The Saga of Kings: Farewell
by Vile Slanders
Summary: Parting is such sweet sorrow. Last call, get your drinks now, before we close shop for good.
1. TSoK, Book 1: Final Excerpts

_**.**_

 _ **AUTHOR'S FOREWORD** **:**_

 _Well guys... It's been a long haul. Would've been nice to have finished TSoK, but after having worked on it for three years with little progress in the last year, I think it's finally time to stick a fork in it._

 _Why stop now? What about the trilogy?_

 _Times change, folks. People change with them. In a way, I'm glad to say that sentiment applies to me; at the same time, there's certain aspects of my former self that I miss. Getting old sucks, and you don't have to be a geriatric to notice how the passage of life affects you. That said, getting old has its perks; because of my advanced age, I can actually manage to do this and still sleep at night._

 _This is far from the first project I've cancelled midway into production; those of you who've stuck around since that cringy piece of smut, Splitting Horizons, know what a bitch I can be when my conscience finally catches up to me._

 _Long story sold short: I'm dissatisfied with TSoK. Yes, there are numerous elements (namely the characters) that I adore, and parts of the story that I still can't believe came out of me (The end of Book 1's Chapter 2 comes to mind; it was a roller coaster with a sucker punch finish for me as well)._

 _But TSoK is poorly written; numerous flaws in both development and execution have come back to haunt me (remember how I kept a tally of how many F-bombs had been dropped in the narrative? Yeah, real proud moment for me there), and ultimately some earlier stylistic choices damned the later production._

 _I know that I can write far more succinctly now, while still retaining the elements of depth and vision that I pride myself in. I have a better grasp on how to handle dialogue, a more robust vernacular, and more perspective of which to write from._

 _Like I said, people change. When I penned the prologue for TSoK's Book 1 three years ago, I thought it was the greatest thing ever. Now I know better, and I've come to temper my expectations with that cold truth._

 _Could I rewrite TSoK? The answer is a definite yes. Will I rewrite TSoK? The answer is a definite no._

 _It really is too big, and there's no way I'm going to put myself through the stress of chopping it up and rewriting it all. Beyond that though? There's really no incentive for me to go through all that work. Despite my reservations regarding the quality of my earlier works; I intend to keep the original story posted as is. Shameful as some of my past literary ventures have been (I'm looking at you, Splitting Horizons), I've always valued them as milestones; a record of where I started from, where I went, and what came out of it._

 _I don't tThe Saga of Kings, BooK 1 Final Excerptshink that I'll be posting any new stories or updates to pre-existing stories on this site; I spent my time here, and I don't regret a minute of it (Cough... maybe I regret some of it...), but it's high time for me to move on. I've already compiled the foundations for my transition to exclusively writing original fiction; I'm confidant enough in my skills to pursue that avenue now._

 _If you're remotely curious as to my whereabouts and activities, just google my pen name. Bizarrely, my written works (even the original ones) seem to get more online hits than than the phrase "vile slanders", so according to a google algorithm, I am the original "vile slanders". Whooptifuckingdo, amirite?_

 _Thanks to all my readers for taking a ride with me. I gotta say, it was good running with you._

 _Goodbye Zane. Goodbye Theron. Can't wait to resurrect you both for an original piece._

 _ **PS:** Oh yeah. I had a bunch of unreleased (yet somewhat presentable) material related to TSoK. I will summarily and unceremoniously dump them all here, in hopes that it brings you some closure._

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" _...Noster Viperarum Meus Salvabit Te De Serpentes..."_

 _Translation: "...Our vipers will save you from the adders..."_

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 **The Saga of Kings, Book I: Hero**

 _Written by,_

 **Vile M.F. Slanders**

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" _ **Nothing is so dangerous to the progress of the human mind than to assume that our views of science are ultimate, that there are no mysteries in nature, that our triumphs are complete and that there are no new worlds to conquer."**_

 _-Sir Humphry Davy, 1st Baronet. Born in Penzance Cornwall England December 17th, 1778 AD. Died in Geneva Switzerland May 29th, 1829 AD. Pioneer of Electrochemistry. Man of both science and poetry._

 **Chapter XI: Of Gilgamesh and Enkidu**

"I could have _sworn_ I told the Director that this facility _wasn't_ kitted for the detail…"

"I know that this has arrived on short notice-"

"-I could have _sworn_ I specifically requested that the zygote be delivered to Waterloo's Genomic Development facility…"

"ACE apologizes for any inconvenience-"

"-You know, I could have _sworn_ I informed the Director that our Saffron Marketing Branch _didn't_ even have an amniotic lab when he mentioned using this facility…"

"Mister Davinci! Please-!"

"-Oh crap! Tenacious, cut it out!"

"...Dear God…"

"Sorry about that. Tenacious doesn't handle his frustrations very well. Don't worry, he wasn't gonna eat you. I raised him better than that."

"...I'm relieved to hear it-"

"-Tenacious still might try to maul you, but even if he does, I can convince him to spit you out. More or less intact."

"...Um…"

"Alive though? I can't give you a guarantee on that. Those tusks of his may be chipped to all hell, but that just makes the lacerations they inflict all the more difficult to treat."

"...M-mister Davinci-?"

"Okay, knock it off, Tenacious. He didn't bring a change of shorts with him, so go salivate on someone else."

"...Um… s-someone…? Anyone…? H-help-?"

"... _Tenacious…_ "

"..."

"Gawdamnit, you stupid fucking dragon. Go chew on a Qwilfish or something. Get outta here!"

"..."

"Go on! Get!"

"..."

"Heh. He's such a little rascal, ain't he?"

"...Y-yes… qu-quite th-the-"

"-Well enough about my ornery firstborn! We haven't even been introduced! I'm Enzo Davinci! How do you do?"

"..."

"..."

"..."

"...I love these awkward moments. They always provide an excellent excuse to indulge in some good old fashioned self-conscious self-reflection. Wouldn't you agree, Agent?"

"...Mister Davinci, if we may skip the formalities and proceed directly to business-"

"-Nice to meet you too, Agent Rude! Yes! Business! Of course! Why don't we start with: WHAT THE HELL IS ACE THINKING, BRINGING THE GAWDAMN ZYGOTE HERE?!"

"I can assure you, Mister Davinci, this facility is ideal for the zygote's security-"

"Are you kidding me?! Who thought that an urbanized sales firm would be a secure location for nurturing a highly unstable genetic analogue?!"

"The Director authorized the zygote's delivery to this facility himself. He deemed it necessary, in order to limit the possible security breaches-"

"Oh, that explains everything! Only a bureaucrat would think that cutting miles out of his dispatch justifies delivering his package to the WRONG FUCKING FACILITY!"

"..."

"...Sorry about that. It's just that all of this is kind of… _inconvenient._ "

"ACE understands that this facility was not designed to house such sensitive projects, but due to its location, and its established civilian front for settling Waterloo's discretional-"

"-Ah-ah-ah! Don't talk about that!"

"...We are in a secure location, are we not?"

"Yeah, but I didn't want you to spoil the surprise…"

"What surprise-?"

"-Holy shit! Enzo, did you really transfer me here for the Djinni Project?!"

"... _No,_ Cameron. That was a ruse. I promoted you to the Development Committee's Chapter Director. But I didn't want to tell you until after we had settled the Military's requisition for addition Saboteurs. I wanted you to start off with a clean plate, you know? No need for you to pick up someone else's mess-"

"Wait a minute! I'm the Chapter Director of-!"

"No, Gottlieb! You _were_ the Chapter Director! I fired your ass two weeks ago! But you weren't supposed to know about it, until after you'd fixed your fuck-up in our Mycology Division!"

"..."

"...It was all supposed to be a _surprise…_ "

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"...This silence has awkward written all over it. Thank you yet again, _Agent Rude…_ "

"...Mister Davinci, if I may? _Business?_ "

"Righto, Agent. Smecker, get on the horn with our Vermilion Breeding Facility. I want their entire amniotic labs uprooted and prepped for air transit by nine o'clock tomorrow morning."

"Right away, Mister Davinci."

"Julienne, have the local maintenance staff clear out every room on levels B9, B10, and B11. Throw away anything that isn't confidential or valuable, donate everything that's harmless to the Providing for Our Foundlings' Drive, and destroy the rest."

"Yes sir!"

"Susannah, muster our technicians to the basement. I want the bottom three levels rigged to provide enough power to operate an eight-TeV particle collider. I want the entire grid foolproof, and double-down on the backup-power systems. You have until one-o'clock tomorrow evening to make it so."

"Consider it done, Mister Davinci."

"Owen, make a list of all the instruments that the Project Team needs. Once you've compiled and sent the manifest to our other Divisions, I expect to see a fully-functional genomic lab ready for use in the basement by tomorrow evening."

"I'm on it, Mister Davinci."

"Cameron, get upstairs, and get cozy in your new office. Sorry about the day-one catastrophe, but I wouldn't have assigned you the position if I didn't believe that you were the man for the job."

"Thank you, Mister Davinci. I won't let you down."

"Gottlieb, you're on coffee detail until we finish terminating your employment. You're still under martial contract, so don't even think about doing something stupid. Regardless of your history with Waterloo, you are still accountable to corporal oath. There's far worse punishments for dereliction of duty than _employment termination_ , Gottlieb. Am I right, Agent Rude?"

"ACE will prepare the necessary confidentiality documentation for Doctor Joseph Gottlieb. Your final debriefing will be held eleven-hundred hours tomorrow, this location. And I take my coffee black, Doctor Gottlieb."

"Agent Rude is such a great alias for you, you know that?"

"...Thank you, Mister Davinci."

"So where were we? -Oh yeah! That's right! _Business!"_

"..."

"..."

"..."

"My name is Enzo Davinci! Pleased to meet you!"

"The pleasure is all mine, Mister Davinci."

…

I got a fire going around sunrise. I couldn't get a wink of sleep after what had happened last night, so I called it quits and set about cooking breakfast for myself around sunrise.

And little sooner after I had a pot of water boiling for mud, his bedraggled highness dragged himself out of his sleeping dragon's wings, and settled himself down on the opposite end of my fire.

I'd seen several different faces of Theron. I'd seen his pleasant side. I'd seen his menacing side. I'd seen, and lived through, his angry side. I had even seen Theron's friendly side before, but the face that greeted me this morning was one that I would never have expected to see on the Eidolon King.

Theron didn't look like a future King of Kalos. Theron didn't even look like a prim and proper Kalosian.

Theron looked like a haunted husk, with those dead eyes of his just staring into the coals of my fire, completely blind to the light that the embers radiated.

Unkempt. Worried. Hollow. Broken.

- _Lost._

I wasn't sitting across from the Eidolon King.

I was sitting across from the man who had become the Eidolon King.

I was looking right at Theron when he was at his most vulnerable.

...And I couldn't even wrap my head around this impossible scene.

Theron didn't say a word. He wasn't even breathing as far as I could tell. He just stared on and endlessly on into the glowing embers, without displaying any hint of hope in finding whatever it was he was looking for.

The morning's first cup of mud found its way from my hands and into Theron's, as the Devil of Kalos wordlessly accepted my offering. Clutching at my tin as though he were trying to sap every BTU of heat from the cooling java, Theron's miserable demeanor didn't change the slightest as I set about cooking my MRE.

"...It's comical, isn't it?" Theron whispered as I dropped a permeable plastic bag of dehydrated eggs into a pot of boiling water. I looked up from my breakfast, to see Theron smiling rudely at himself, even as his eyes refused to shift from their vacant search through the flames.

"...The Devil of Kalos, reduced to a whimpering babe by a nightmare?" Theron snorted, and slowly shook his head, yet those naked grey eyes never wavered from their contact with the fire's core.

"...So you're human. Get over yourself." I grunted, not entirely comfortable with the heading of this conversation.

"...Thankfully yes. I am still human…" Theron murmured to himself with a slight chuckle, and drew his very first sip of instant coffee without even hacking on the acidic beverage.

"...Is your dragon gonna try to kill me when she wakes up?" I grunted, trying to steer this awkward silence into more pleasant grounds. Theron just laughed, and settled back into the Prague's dirt, before prying his hollow eyes from the fire to look over towards the slumbering Grigori with a fond smile.

"If I know my dear Grigori, Zane… You are going to be the least of her concerns when she rises. Sorry to deflate your ego." Theron was beginning to lighten up, and for some unbeknownst reason, I found myself chuckling along with him.

"In the event that you're wrong, restrain her long enough for me to finish breakfast. So long as I die with a hot meal in me, I can go to my grave a happy man." That statement of mine was made with the most innocuous of intentions, but it quickly darkened Theron's uplifting mood.

"...I am truly happy that is all it takes to secure your peace, Ranger…" Theron gazed into the flames again, and his fledgling smile faded away even faster than my patience.

"For God's sake, Theron… What is it with you and death?" I growled, chucking aside my prepary utensil, and glaring rank disgust right at the Eidolon King's miserable visage. It was a while before Theron could find the nerve to answer me, but when he did, he posed his response with a frail question.

"...What do you know about death, Zane?"

I stared long and hard at TH, trying to figure out the angle of his query.

I was a goddamn veteran Ranger who had seen no shortage of death in his three years of service, and Theron knew it. If anyone else had asked me that question, I would have bitten their fucking heads off with the straight answer.

"...I know that it ain't pretty, and I know that it ain't dignified. But I also know that it's inevitable, and I ain't gonna waste my finite life moping about my own expiration." I growled at Theron, offering him my unshakable resolve as an answer. Theron just swelled with the breath of a silent sigh, and took another sip of my coffee.

"...Sage advice, Zane. You are truly a wiser man than I, for I cannot shake the dread of what awaits me in the Distortion…" Theron shuddered his praise of me, and I could only stare at him with a new sense of profanity.

"...So you don't want to become a ghost?" I grunted, forfeiting a potential argument in favor of meeting Theron on his ethical terms.

"...Why would anyone desire the fate of a vile sadist, whose only salve for damnation is the hopeless lamentations of its victims?" Theron whispered, visibly withdrawing into himself.

"...You know I still call bullshit on your whole apotheosis, right?" I grumbled, not really prepared to answer Theron's latest of questions. Theron shuddered on an intake of breath, and sank even further into his own shadow.

"...Zane… I grow weary of repeating myself. It is not a belief. I do not cling to some fantastical religion. I believe very much the same that you do, but I know of a hell reserved specifically for Channelers. This one life is all I have, same as you. Yet unlike you, I am not ensured peaceful oblivion at my life's end…"

Theron was that close to crying. I could see the rims of his eyes beginning to water. I couldn't even fathom what manner of conflict Theron was fighting at that moment. It seemed alien to me, when a passing thought suggested that this dread of his was constant, that there was no solace from this fear.

Theron was convinced that he was going to hell, and there was absolutely nothing that he could do to prevent it.

"So how do you live?" I asked, my voice implying a challenge. Theron's grey eyes left the dying embers of my fire and met my dodging gaze with a start.

"Why don't you just get it over with? Move on to the real deal, rather than wasting away in the kiddy pool?" I asked, my voice no more derisive than was necessary.

"...Because there is a purpose that I have committed myself to. A purpose worth suffering this wretched life for." Theron answered me with the day's first portrayal of decisiveness.

"Again with the whole predestination bullshit. Don't you have something-"

"-Thank you, Zane. I appreciate your council." Theron shut me down with an obstinate, yet polite, interjection.

"...And thank you for the coffee. I'm afraid I may require it for the road ahead." Theron murmured, downing the last of his joe with a single gulp.

"We don't have to start rolling out anytime soon. You can get some sleep, if you need to." I grunted, as I tucked into a soggy bag of lukewarm eggs.

"No. We must make for Lavender Town with all due haste. The Lavender Field is ripe with the imprints of forlorn spirits. The sooner I can deter my wraiths' attentions from me and onto the departed dead of ages past…" Theron shuddered near the end of that morbid announcement. I know that serving as the lifetime cookie jar for a host of Ghosts takes its toll on a Channeler, but even so, goddamn…

 _-Forlorn spirits of the departed dead from ages past?_

Nihilistic romanticism at its worst.

"Are you planning to supercharge your Ghosts in the Lavender Field?" I voiced a sudden suspicion, and Theron confirmed it with a jerky nod.

"Doesn't the local Channeler community take offense to that practice?" I asked.

"To hell with those religious mongrels. Better for Exodus to consume the woes of the dead and the damned, rather than the sorrows of the quick and condemned." Theron spat.

…

"Then how exactly does your vision work?" I growled, skepticism obvious in my voice. Theron sighed, and ceased his gait; drawing our progression through the grey-lit dark to a halt.

"I don't care if you believe me… But if you are truly curious as to the nature of mine eyes, then I will divulge the information as best as I can." Theron whispered.

"...How do you see the world, Zane?" Theron asked.

"In color, depth, and motion." I grunted.

"A simplification, but accurate. Allow me to explicate: would you agree that you perceive the world in three dimensions?" Theron rephrased.

"No shit." I replied.

"...I do not see this world in three dimensions. My sight goes beyond the world that you perceive."

I rumbled with an intake of breath, more disappointed than frustrated with Theron's claim.

"You think I speak in vanity, yet you know not burden of this sight..." Theron muttered in his own disappointed tone.

"Then don't over simplify it into some flowery hogwash. If you want to wow me with quantum mechanics, then wow me with quantum mechanics." I growled. Theron sighed in resignation, and bowed his head against the encroaching vacillation.

"I see the influence of time on matter, and of matter's influence on time; I see decay and causality, similar to how you see depth and motion. To these eyes, the past and the future are not obfuscations; they are results, whose formulas are dictated by the sequences of the present." Theron grimly faced me and my skepticism, determined to relate his quandary.

"That don't make sense. The past already happened. History is the dead precursor to the newborn now. How can the past be influenced by the present?" I sneered, challenging the obvious flaw in Theron's explanation.

"Dissuade yourself of a concrete timeline, Zane. Entertain the possibility that the record of history was altered by, or obscure to, its contemporary archivists. Now imagine that our understanding of history, our perception of the past, evolves and changes as we come to discover the historical facts previously unrecorded by man. Just because you don't know that something transpired, doesn't mean that such an event never occurred." Theron replied.

"Done." I grunted, shrugging my shoulders.

"...Now think abstractly, Zane. Think. Would understanding more in the present have an effect on your perception of the past?" Theron asked.

"Of course it would. Hindsight isn't called hindsight because-"

"Precisely my point. Now apply that same realization of developing hindsight to its antonym: _foresight."_ Theron hissed.

My silence persisted, as I struggled to conceive of a means to refute Theron's proposal.

But despite my best efforts, I simply couldn't find one.

"...You want to know what I see, Zane? You want to know what I see, quantified to its most basic descriptor?" Theron asked, his voice hoarse.

It took me a moment to realize a means of answering Theron in way that wouldn't jeopardize my dignity. In the end, all I could offer him was a stiff nod.

"...I see mathematics. Equations disguised as material transition; sums hidden within the bifurcation of possibility. I see a calculation, compounded by innumerable factors; all converging into a single immutable phenomenon." Theron replied.

I was rendered speechless.

 _-Theron saw fucking math?!_

" _Máthēma:_ the universal language; exemplary in its conveyance; absolute in its promulgation; spoken by fermions and chronons alike. Máthēma is what I see, biased by an organic perception. The rot is transition; the dark is variables. And everything within this universe is subject to both the rot and the dark." Theron whispered, his voice growing faint.

"...You don't seriously believe-"

"I told you before, I don't care if you believe me! I've wasted enough of my life attempting to convince skeptics of my vision! But you requested an explanation, and I have duly provided you with one. Make of it what you will. I don't require your acceptance; I just need you to realize the gravity of our circumstance." Theron spat, striding off into the writhing dark, fuming in helpless anger.

I may not have been able to accept Theron's explanation of his visions, but for some reason, the insight it offered gave me a means to understand _him_.

"...You're alone, aren't you, Theron?"

Theron came to a dead stop, and Thanatos's grey soulfire dimmed.

"...Yet despite your solitude, you still press on, because you're afraid of something; something that you feel only you can see."

I could see Theron shaking further down the tunnel. His fists were balled, his shoulders and neck were clenched tightly, and his head trembling upon its trunk.

...And I could hear the small, frail, barely discernable gasps of breath as Theron did all he could to hide his sobs from me.

"Maybe I don't see what you see. Maybe I refuse to believe in what you believe. But I know that feeling, Theron. Why do you think I fight for a world that ridicules me?" I spat through gnashing teeth.

"...And that is why you and I are damned, Zane. Even should we prove victorious in our struggle… you and I are forever damned to be alone…" Theron wept to the darkness, wept to the inanimate earth.

Wept to me, his adversary.

Wept for the cost of our convictions.

"It's worth it." I rumbled with a decisive breath.

A short peal of laughter sounded from the Eidolon King, and Theron's shoulders rose and fell in the cadence of his silent chuckle.

"...Yes… It most certainly is…" Theron laughed into the void of the Kobold mountains, a tinge of relief audible in his watery tone.

"...I am glad to have met you, Zane. If for nothing else, then for this single instance… I am happy to have known you…" Theron whispered, turning to me with the first true smile I'd ever seen upon his face.

I knew that smile. I had felt that same saddened expression on my face a spartan number of times.

It was my smile; the smile I only expressed in true empathy.

It was the only true smile that I was capable of.

…

"Alright, Cortez. You ready for your walk?" I asked my shedding monster of a hound.

"Are you serious?!" Melissa hissed from behind.

"Just bear with me, Melissa. I'll explain soon enough." I kept my voice casual when I addressed the fuming widow.

"Let's walk into the breeze, okay Cortez? See if we can't lose some of those whiskers you're sprouting…" I declared as I leaned towards Cortez's neck and proceeded to pluck tufts of loose hair from his knotted mane.

"...And while you're at it, see if you can sniff out any spooks that might be tailing us." I whispered into Cortez's ear. My dog gave a low woof, before starting off with a bounce to his step, and a voracious nose whiffing at the air. I turned to Melissa with a cautious look in my eye, checking to see if she'd caught the private order I'd just given Cortez.

Despite her quizzical expression, Melissa gave me a curt nod. That was a yes.

We maintained our silence as we followed the Celadon breeze for for a wayward mile. Only after the capricious wind had blown across us from every direction, did I dare to violate the silence with a question to Cortez.

"...Are we all alone, pooch?"

Cortez lifted his front right paw, and flicked it twice. _Affirmative._

"...Okay. Start barking at shadows if something pops up on your radar. Melissa…" I turned to Brenda's widow with a heavy expression plain on my face.

"...What's going on, Zane? Why the hell did you call me out here to talk? Why the hell did I even agree to meet you?! And why the hell are you afraid that someone is following us?!" Melissa spat. I took a long deep breath before I carefully enunciated my reply.

"...Don't take this the wrong way, Melissa… but I need someone to talk to. And as it currently stands? You're the only person I can trust."

…

I told her everything.

In conscious violation of my oath as a Special Operative of the Corps, and in willful violation of my status as an ACE Agent.

I told Melissa absolutely everything.

I should've been amazed that she heard me out. I should've been flabbergasted that she remained silent throughout the entire disclosure. I should've been grateful that she listened to my every spoken word…

...But experiencing all that awe would have to wait for the clarity of hindsight. At the time of the reveal, I could barely keep track of my own thoughts as I spilled both my guts and my knowledge of every dirty secret to Melissa.

"-Maybe I'm crazy for even suggesting it- Scratch that. Maybe I'm actually insane, but something big is coming our way, and everything that's happened up to this point was intentional. Everything. There's just too much coincidence, too many subtle correlations, too much shit that I still don't know… But something big is coming, and somehow, I'm wrapped up in the thick of it..." I had to pause my panicked rant for want of breath, I'd been rambling on and on to the point that my mouth was parched and my head was spinning.

"So let me get this straight…" Melissa capitalized on my sudden silence to voice her scepticism.

"Your mother died seven months ago, and Ranger High Command only informed you about it recently; Echo Squad's mission was accelerated months ahead of what you'd initially been led to expect, and you were never given an explanation as to why; Your mission in the League was authorized barely a month after Echo's fall, while your status as an able-bodied Ranger was still being debated; You're not just a Ranger of the Corps, but also a fucking conscripted ACE spook, _and_ you're on first-name basis with the likely future King of Kalos?" Melissa summarized the last hour and a half with a single statement.

"Didja catch the fishy bit about Cortez's transfer? Or the Snorlax being in the Viridian Forest when they've never once been found that far west?! What about the whole fucking thing Theron hinted at, the whole fucking thing about a gawdamn war?!" I was rattled beyond any concern for dignity regarding my composure.

"Yeah, I caught those bits. I didn't want to say anything about all of that, because it all sounded crazy enough when you said it." Melissa retorted, but a hysterical note had wormed its way past her initial scepticism.

"It is crazy, but that's not the scary part. The scary part is that it's all beginning to make sense…" I managed to whimpered. Despite her reservations, Melissa was still shuddering right beside me.

"...So you're saying that it was all a setup. Brenda's death." Melissa whispered.

"...I don't understand why they'd do something like that. I can't figure out what it would accomplish. But everything that led up to it, and everything that's followed… It all seems _engineered…_ " I swallowed hard, as Melissa's angry eyes met my pleading gaze.

"...And what if I said that this smells like a cop out to me? What if I said that this whole yarn you're feeding me sounds engineered? What if I think that you're lying to me and yourself just to alleviate the guilt?" Melissa spat, and her venom inspired me with an unpleasant calm.

"...Echo died under my command, Melissa. Regardless of whether it was a setup, or an accident, they still died under my command. That's something I'll never forget. That's something I'll never forgive."

Melissa's anger faded when faced with my grim admancy. I wasn't about to lay all the blame on a diabolical theory.

"...Why are you telling me this then? Why risk your life, and _mine_ , spouting ACE secrets to an unaffiliated civilian?" Melissa whispered in a fearful voice.

"Because you deserve to know the truth, Melissa. Because I'm scared witless, and confiding in an unaffiliated civilian is my only hope for establishing clarity. And because, if anyone is going to nail me to a cross, I'd rather it be a person with a damn good justification for seeing me hang." I answered, still miraculously maintaining my weary calm.

"...If ACE did send Brenda to die… Then I want to know why they did it. Now you said that you have no idea what killing Echo would accomplish, and you even said that you don't even know if ACE intended for them to die… but if what you're suggesting is true… Then someone in ACE decided that Echo's demise was worth the risk. And no one ever told Brenda what she was going to be risking as Echo Squad's medic…" Melissa whispered.

"Not just Brenda. Carlos. Erin. Pete. Amber. Me. Not one of us had a clue." My voice seemed devoid of all expression or substance, as I reflected on the immorality behind my first command.

"...We weren't ready for it. I told Colonel Howes as much, when he ordered us into the Long Sway on day three. They were unseasoned Walkouts, not Vets! And I barely had the patience to put up with their inexperience! But they sent us off into the fucking Brink all the same!" I was doing my damndest not to lose my cool, but I could feel my eyes wetting and my knees shaking.

"...And the Snorlax? You think it was a plant? That ACE put it in the Long Sway, knowing that Echo would find it?" Melissa pressed.

"Two things suggest so. One: Cortez was dispatched to the Ranger Corps, after the Military had taken illegal repossession of him. One of the most decorated Hunter-Killers in the service, being delivered to me on the first day of my command? How could a Growlithe as good as Cortez miss the scent of a bloody Snorlax in the windswept plains of the Long Sway? And how many other dogs would've stayed by their CO's side during the chase that followed? Cortez showed himself to be a martyr in Fuchsia, and I wouldn't put it past ACE to expect a repeat performance in Viridian." I looked over at my magnificent hound, and saw the stoic soldier crumbling in those mismatched eyes of his.

"...And your second suspicion?" Melissa dared breach the new silence with a bold question.

And I would give her the shady truth.

"Blackhat Team Seven's ETA to our Blackhandle. I should've been suspicious the instant Colonel Howes affirmed eighteen minutes. I don't why it took me so long to look up their mission log for that day. It would've taken them over two hours to get from Cerulean HQ to Viridian Forest. Guess it's a good thing they had a priority order from High Command to standby in Lune with the their dicks in hands that day, huh?" I actually laughed when I hit the punchline, though the insinuation was anything but funny.

Melissa froze solid.

"...They had orders to ignore all other hails, and to standby for High Command's direct authorization to act. It wasn't a coincidence that they were within eighteen minutes of the Long Sway. Just like the Snorlax, Blackhat Team Seven was planted to play their part in the following drama." I whispered, and Melissa's jaw dropped.

To say that my last piece of evidence sounded suspicious would've been an understatement. To acknowledge it as borderline damning was far more befitting.

"...But why?" Melissa whispered in a weak voice, when desperation for an answer had finally overcome the shock.

"...I don't know. That's the part that doesn't add up. If ACE wanted me in the League, then why didn't they just put me there?! Why did they have to send Echo on a suicide mission first?!" I hissed, clenching my shaking hands into white-knuckled fists.

"...You said you didn't want anything to do with the League, didn't you?" Melissa murmured in an undertone.

"If I ever wanted to compete in the stupid fucking League, I would've had daddy dearest bankroll my way in. I didn't put a beret on my head to play pussy-footed games in the-" I would've continued spitting venom, but Melissa cut me off.

"...Maybe they killed Brenda and put you through hell, just so you wouldn't have any other alternative to keep a beret on your head." Melissa whispered.

That shut my spiel up cold and fast.

"...No. That's low. Even for ACE-" I began, but then my rationality overrode my denial, and I couldn't keep going. This was ACE. These were the same people who had allied with the Devil of Kalos himself. ACE didn't plan to preserve morality in their operations. They didn't value human life, or respect the sanctity of the self. Ethics was only practiced in ACE's PR department, because ACE official only cared about the mission success.

"...Think about it, Zane. Your mother was dead well before you even accepted command of Echo Squad. You've confirmed that ACE was responsible for withholding the disclosure of that information. If ACE has been setting you up, then it sounds like they started planning for Echo's mission months in advance."

My God, Melissa couldn't have said anything more horrifying. I was locked up and frozen stiff where I stood, my disbelieving eyes revealing all of the hopelessness that had formed a cold vacuum within me.

"...Zane-?" Melissa choked out as I fell on my rump with my head in my hands.

"No… No, it can't be…" I whimpered to myself. Cortez settled down behind me, pressing his warm bulk into my back as a means of support.

"...No one would do that… No one would kill- would kill _them…_ just for that…" I let the tears fall freely into my lap. I couldn't care less about maintaining appearances. It was too horrifying to accept, but just like everything else leading up to this revelation…

 _...It made perfect sense…_

When I finally exhausted my emotions, and pulled my weary self over that ledge again, I discovered that it wasn't just Cortez offering me support.

My head was in Melissa's lap, and Brenda's widow was softly hushing me as she caressed the side of my face.

I will admit, it was with a certain reluctance that I pulled myself out of that comforting cradle. But when I rose back into a sitting position, it was with the same tired dignity that I had fought so hard to maintain since the Snorlax's mastication of me.

"...If ACE actually murdered them for something as shallow as that…" A cold tone of finality had found its way into my voice.

-Forget due process. Forget fair trials. I would kill the individuals responsible. That was my only recourse.

 _That was the only recourse._

"...And this thing with Theron and the League? This whole, batshit insane stunt being pulled by the Eidolon King and ACE? What role do you play in it?" Melissa pressed.

"...I don't know the definitive answer to that either, but there's a few things I do know for certain. ACE is trying to empower the Ranger Corps. For what purpose I'm not entirely sure, but they definitely want me on the Throne for the benefit of the Corps. In this particular regard, Theron is in the same vote as ACE, but I'm getting the sneaking suspicion that his agenda diverges from ACE's in the endgame." My numb demeanor gave way to brooding, as I pondered the possibilities yet again.

"ACE wants me on the League Throne, but Theron expects something more of me. I won't pretend to know what Theron's goal really is, but he's made this much perfectly clear: Theron thinks that I'm _above_ the position of League Champion." I grumble as I ruminated on every meaningful line the Eidolon King had uttered since our first encounter.

"...Theron is grooming me into a role that ACE never intended for me to play. I don't know if this makes him my ally; or a potentially greater threat than ACE, but Theron is playing ACE, the Concordant, and _me_ for his own enigmatic purposes. Until I can establish his motivation, I'm going to continue regarding Theron as an enemy." I hissed. Melissa made a peculiar noise, and I shot her a look.

"...It's… Well, it's odd, hearing you call Theron an enemy. Some of the things you said about him earlier… made it sound like you two were friends." Melissa stated in a self-conscious tone.

"Yeah. I might have thought the same damn thing not so long ago too." I stated in a dry voice. Melissa quirked an eyebrow, before voicing her next question.

"...What happened?" Melissa asked in a soft voice. I just snorted.

"Between me and Theron? Oh, we just had a slight disagreement in Lavender Town a few days back." I feigned a chuckle, but the anger in my voice masked any casual attempt at diversion.

"What-?" Melissa began, but I cut her off with a straightforward answer.

"-Theron murdered an eight-year old girl for God only knows what insane reason, and I told him that I was gonna kill him for it." My reply was as blunt and as decisive as I could phrase it. Melissa covered her mouth in horror, and stared at my furiously stewing self in wide-eyed disbelief.

"He really had me going, you know? Damn near pulled the wool over my eyes. A Channeler with a conscience? I should've known better. No, Looker was absolutely right. There ain't nothing human in TH. Everything he says or does contrary to being a devil is just a fucking act. Only one good thing came of him murdering Amy: I know better than to trust him now." I spat, cracking my knuckles with a solemn oath.

"...And his fiancée? She just popped up in Celadon, right out of the blue?" Melissa asked.

"Apparently Valerie has been spending the last couple of months looking for Theron, ever since she escaped from Ruling House Arturia's custody. Thanks to the news footage following my Vermilion Gym match, Valerie found out that Theron was tagging along with me, and that we were headed for Celadon next. So she decided to set up camp, and waited for us here. Practically bumped into me at a diner this morning, and then suckered me into entreating with TH on her behalf. Quite the feat for a blind girl." I grumbled.

"It sounds like you don't get along with her." Melissa stated.

"...She's completely loyal to Theron. Why would I trust her anymore than him?" I grumbled, but even my own biased ears could detect the insincerity present in my voice.

"...More to it than that?" Melissa petitioned.

"...She's a gawdamn Kalosian Fairy-Trainer, and you can tell just by looking at her that she's about ready to keel over and die. And yet, heartless fucking Theron can't take his freaky fucking eyes off her. Or arms." I added with a growl.

"Like in a rapey way, or do you mean-?" Melissa began, but I wasn't gonna let her finish. I wouldn't stand to hear that sacred sentiment being associated with Theron Motherfucking Halcyon.

"-Theron ain't capable of love! I don't know why he's so protective of Valerie, but it has nothing to do with affection!" I spat, and slammed my knuckles into the ground.

"...What if you're wrong?" Melissa _dared_ to propose.

My passionate glare would've left any other human being fearing for their wellbeing, but Melissa was made of sterner stuff than most people.

As unfathomable as the assertion sounds, this women is even tougher than _me_.

"Do you even know what Channeling does to a human being, Zane?" Melissa met my cold blooded eyes with her resolute ones, reminding me that even when I was at my rawest, I couldn't scare her in the least.

"Turns them into a fucking devil?" I spat my reply with a tone of finality, but I didn't get to say when this discussion was over.

"...Not quite. Do you think that their Ghosts would still be able to feed off them, if Channelers couldn't distinguish between their own positive and negative emotions?" Melissa asked.

"Just shut up, Melissa." I grunted.

"You know that I'm right. Deep down, you know that you still care about Theron. He may have betrayed your trust, but demonizing-"

"Listen to you! You have no idea what it's like defending a fucking devil, only for him to stab you in the back the very next fucking day! You no have idea how easily Theron gets inside your fucking head! How he twists and manipulates the very things you hold most sacred against you! How he presents himself to you, seemingly frightened and alone! You have no fucking idea what it's like-!"

"-I'm talking to _you_ , aren't I?" Melissa cut my tirade off with a wounded hiss. After that revelation, I couldn't find it in me to continue. The parallel Melissa had drawn between the two of us ran too deep for me to deny.

That, and the budding of hot tears in Melissa's blue eyes brought me to a self-conscious standstill.

To Melissa, I was Zane Bastard. The man who had taken command of her late wife's fate. The man, who had professed to love Brenda like he loved no other woman. The man who had seen Brenda's safety as his own personal mission.

The man who had lived, while Brenda had died.

...As painful as it was to acknowledge, more so at this moment than any moment prior, I was Melissa's own personal devil, who played with her heart in ways both enticing and profane.

I was the Theron in this confusing and unhealthy relationship.

...And everything I had shared with Melissa tonight, had only served to ease Melissa past her reluctance of exposing her most vulnerable self to her own personal devil.

The fact that Melissa could bring herself to trust Zane Bastard stunned me with a surreal sentiment.

...The fact that she could be so quick to forgive her devil filled me with an intense self-loathing.

"You don't mean that, Melissa." I grumbled, sidling away from her.

"Why not?" Melissa asked, more angry with my rejection than wounded by it.

"...I'm a monster in my own right. I don't deserve to be forgiven, just like Brenda didn't deserve what happened." I mumbled off into the growing night.

"...Fuck you, Zane." Melissa hissed in an undertone.

"It's for your own fucking good!" I spat right back at her.

"Bullshit! You're just trying to martyr yourself for your own fucking convictions! You don't want to be forgiven, because if you accept that I can forgive you, then you run the risk of forgiving Theron-"

"-WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU BRINGING HIM INTO THIS?!" I roared over Melissa, silencing her for a but a moment while I collected my ragged breath.

"...Because, regardless of what he did, you still think that you can save him." Melissa whispered, and by the fresh tears falling from her eyes, Melissa betrayed her own reasoning for forgiving me.

It took me a moment to overcome the shock inspired by her admission, but when I did, I conjured up enough sense of self to dash her benevolent intents with a heartfelt admission of my own.

"...Look at me, Melissa." I mumbled, stationing the rising anger behind a facsimile of calm. Melissa could barely lift her head following that shameful confession, but she struggled to meet my unmoved gaze with her grieving eyes.

"I'm broken, Melissa. I'll always be broken. There's nothing left in this body worth saving. There's nothing left of who I was. All I am is a hatred. All I have left is rage." I used that hidden anger, I drew it into my convictions, and used those convictions to vocalize my words with the most impartial of voices humanly possible. Melissa had been right about one thing.

I hated Theron, because I hated myself.

And even if... No. _Especially_ if it meant claiming some measure of solace from my greatest sin, I couldn't bring myself to be a hypocrite.

What made hating Theron all the more painful, was that I didn't want to hate him.

...But for the sake of my own warped sense of morality, I had to hate Theron.

So I wasn't going to let Melissa violate that need, and take my guilt away.

"...I don't believe you." Melissa whispered.

"I hurt people, Melissa. Everyone who gets close to me ends up dead or destroyed. Every person I've ever cared about-" I cursed myself for the thoughtless phrasing.

"-You should hate me, because we'll both be happier if you do." I glared off into the darkening day, refusing to meet Melissa's eyes any longer.

"I can hate that you're a stubborn jackass, but I can still relish the challenge of getting through your thick skull." Melissa growled past gritted teeth.

"Stubborn? Coming from you?" I snorted in derision, but Melissa just laughed it off.

"It's kind of funny, you saying that. Brenda was always the level-headed one…" Melissa may have sniffled a bit, and raised a palm to dry the corners of her eyes; but her sad smile still managed to endure the memory.

"...That girl knew how to keep me on a short lease. Every time I started to lose my temper, she always found a way to calm me down." Melissa loosened a watery giggle.

"...How did you two meet?" I asked in a soften voice, and Melissa shuddered on a deep breath.

"...Med-school. Brenda and I attended the same para-kingdom biology class." Melissa murmured.

"...So how did you two meet?" I pressed, a lewd grin lifting the corner of one cheek.

Melissa punched me in throat for it.

"I don't kiss and tell." Melissa smirked, as I choked on my own windpipe.

"...Shit. What a tired old cock tease." I tossed a cheesy smile at Melissa.

"Well a cock tease is the best you could hope from me, so you can cut the charming bullshit out now." Melissa's voice went cold.

"No worries. I know better than to try and charm an Ursaring." I grunted, earning another punch from Melissa. This one was suspiciously aimed at my inner thigh.

"...I remember when Brenda told me that she had gotten married. Gave me the worst case of blue balls when she announced it too." I said, following my own fond memory of Brenda with a sigh. Melissa started laughing.

"I knew that you two had a thing before... before I opened up to Brenda. I was actually jealous of you at one point." Melissa chuckled.

"Shit, I was envious of you the instant Brenda flashed me her ring finger. If Brenda had thought to inform me that she'd married another woman sooner, I might've tried my luck at organizing a-"

"-Get fucked, you lecherous git!" A half scandalized, half flattered blond haired beauty punched me square in the crotch for going as far as that. Thank goodness my pride could adequately cover the family jewels, otherwise I might've been nursing a sore spot after Melissa's latest attempt at battery.

"...But that's all moot. Brenda made her choice, and I gotta say, she made the better of two choices." I managed a halfhearted smile at Melissa, but Brenda's widow looked away from my mixed gesture of grief and joy.

"...I couldn't believe it when she took me up on the first date. I thought for sure she was… Well, after hearing what she had to say about you…" Melissa murmured more to herself than to me.

"Kinda surprised me too, when I found out. I knew that Brenda had a big heart, but-" I began on an awkward note.

"-You didn't know that she was bi?" Melissa finished for me, without a hint of embarrassment.

"...She didn't really let on, if you get my meaning." I respectfully admitted.

"Did you think less of her when you found out?" Melissa asked in a quiet voice.

"Of course not. When she did tell me that she was bi, all I heard was: _you got a second chance, Zane-_ "

"-Do I have to hit you again, or are you finally going to remember that Brenda was _my wife?"_ Melissa growled.

"I'm just saying that it was relieving, not disturbing. But when I saw your wedding photo, all thoughts of a threesome just kinda slipped my mind." I settled back into Cortez's mane, and looked straight up at the horizon cast between the sleepy day and the waking night. The star-dappled blue was merging with the fire-pink clouds of summer's late sunsets, as the orange rays of the fattening sun burst on the seam between the land's canopied end and the heaven's prismatic beginning.

"Why was that?" Melissa murmured, her eyes following mine to drink in the same sky that I saw.

"...You both looked so happy." I murmured, prematurely breaking off my gaze with the solstice afflicted skies.

I could feel Melissa's questioning look on my right side, but I couldn't meet her eyes.

"...I didn't belong in that picture. And I have no shame in accepting that." I answered after an extended pause.

"...So this war? The war that Theron hinted at?" Melissa took the cue, and steered the increasingly awkward conversation into even less comfortable waters.

" _The same war that you and I started._ Theron's biggest slip, and the one topic he won't touch again with a ten-meter pole." I grumbled.

"...So do you buy it?" Melissa asked in a faint voice.

"Do I believe for so much as a second that Theron is a prophet? Hell no. But can I see that something big and ugly is waiting for us further down the road? You don't have to be clairvoyant to notice that." I sighed.

"What do you think Theron meant, when he mentioned a war?" Melissa pressed.

"Dunno. Could be the Unova fortified Concordant trying to conquer the rest of the world. Could be Fuhrer Adler or even Theron fucking up in the Concordant, and kicking off the start of a World War. _Or…_ " I swallowed hard, rather than voice the other possibility.

"...Or you actually play a part in this war." Melissa finished the theory for me, regardless of whether I wanted to hear it or not.

"...This Operation… This Wounded Hearts Project… It's big. It's huge. I haven't even scratched the surface of what ACE is attempting to pull off." I whispered.

"You said that they're definitely trying to empower the Ranger Corps-" Melissa began.

"-Yeah, but for what reason? And what does establishing a new King in Kalos have to do with securing the future of the Kantonese Ranger Corps?" I grumbled.

"You're certain that those two prerogatives are tied together?" Melissa asked.

"The Black King and the White King. Those are references to chess pieces. Those are ACE's callsigns for two of their prime advocates. Theron is the Black King. I'm supposed to be their fucking White King. And the board we're playing on? ACE calls it _Operation: Wounded Hearts_. Yeah, it's all connected." I grunted.

"...What if you're wrong about it being a reference to a game of chess?" Melissa asked. I snorted.

"What other board game uses color-coded kings?" I made no secret of my scepticism.

"A lot, I would imagine. Hell, Erika introduced me to xiangqi shortly after I started working at the Celadon Gym." Melissa retorted.

"Zhee-ong-what?" I asked, damn sneezing on the foreign name.

" _Xiangqi._ Johto's indigenous version of chess." Melissa explained.

"Does it play differently than Kanto's version of chess?" I asked.

"The pieces are different, the board is more complex, and the rules are completely different; but the end goal remains the same: Capture the opposing king." Melissa elaborated.

"Still sounds like chess." I grunted.

"Can you have three players in chess?" Melissa quipped. I shot her an odd look.

"...Explain." I grumbled in a voice that was growing more impatient by the second.

"There's a variant of xiangqi called Sanguo Qi, or the Game of Three Kingdoms. I've only played it once, and I barely understood the rules, but unlike your standard game of chess or xiangqi, Sanguo Qi has three players." Melissa carried on.

"Riveting. Another board game with multiple players all jumping down one another's' throat-" I began on a snide note, but Melissa interjected.

"Conquering the other Kings isn't the only way to win Sanguo Qi. I lost the variant I played when the other two players struck a truce, and allied together to wipe my army off the board. After that, they duked it out for first place. But from what I understood, they could've shared a victory after beating me; or if we all decided to call a truce, we could've all won by forfeiting on the same turn." Melissa explained, and I quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Chess is a strategist's game. Sanguo Qi is both a strategist's _and_ a diplomat's game. Establishing peace between the Three Kingdoms is tantamount to a victory for all."

"...Sounds like an interesting game..." I grumbled.

"Well, if we apply your gameboard logic to Operation: Wounded Hearts, Sanguo Qi makes more sense than chess. Think of it for a moment: in chess, the Black King and the White King are opposed, and a victor is decided when one of the Kings falls to the other. Somehow, I don't see ACE empowering the _Kantonese_ _Ranger Corps_ to fight a war against an _ACE sponsored King of Kalos_. No matter what angle you try to spin it from: the Kantonese Rangers duking it out with Kalosian Military doesn't have a beneficial, or even sensible, outcome for ACE." Melissa stated.

"...I'll concede that you have a point there, but now answer me this riddle: If Operation Wounded Hearts is actually based on Sanguo Qi instead of chess, then tell me who the third King is?" I countered Melissa's suggestion with an obvious flaw.

"How am I supposed to know? Maybe the third King isn't even-" Melissa began, but I cut her short with a snort.

"ACE pretty much leaked mine and Theron's statuses as Kings during a moment of panty-soiling terror. They never mentioned a third King, and come to think of it, neither has Theron. The reason why neither one of them has mentioned a third King, is because there is no third King." I started chuckling, and Melissa's concern arched one of her perfectly even blonde eyebrows in retort.

"Don't you think that you're dismissing the possibility of a third King a little too readily?" Melissa asked.

"Melissa, stop thinking of it in terms of board games. It's an allusion, not an analogy. Just 'cause mine and Theron's call signs are of opposing colors and position don't mean shit. We're not playing a worldwide game of chess. Reality doesn't conform to board game rules. It's just some dumbass cryptologist's idea of a code. Theron and I are not going to lead a war against one another on any field other than the ideological one. So as much as I'd like to take a crack at wringing his Trevenant infested neck, I'm never gonna get the fucking chance."

…

"I found a boutique and a letter sometime last month. During a visit to your mother."

"...Did you read the letter?"

"Of course I did."

"..."

"...I thought that you'd pushed us away. That you'd taken your anger and hurt out on your mother, when it was me that-"

"-I didn't know. They didn't tell me until…"

"..."

"...I only found out about it last month..."

"...That's what I kind of figured, after having read your apology."

"..."

"...I also saw your match against Misty and Lt. Surge. Saw some of your finer moments, and some of your more shameful ones as well-"

"You don't know me, so stop pretending like you do."

"You're still my-"

"No. I'm not. The sniveling boy you kicked out into the streets is gone. He couldn't cut it. He had to become someone else if he wanted to live."

"...Is that what you believe?"

"Everyday, I see the kind of shit that would keep you up at night. I've bloodied my hands in battlefields whose records would leave you whimpering. I struggle everyday of my life to breath; to walk; to smile; to forget and to remember! I survived a world that you could never cope with, and you're going to talk down to me like I'm still fourteen years old and clueless?"

"...That's not what I'm trying to say-"

"Then say what you have to say, and quit being such a pussy about it!"

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"...I want you to come home."

"Funny."

"You're angry at me, I get it. I deserve it. What I did was inexcusable; unforgivable. I let my frustration get the better of me, and I've regretted it ever since I pushed you away-"

"If that's the case, then why did it take mom dying for you to finally talk to me?"

"...I didn't think that you'd want to hear from me. Not after what I did."

"You weren't wrong."

"...So why are you listening to me now?"

"..."

"..."

"...Because-"

"..."

"...Because I've seen so much loss in the last three years… that I couldn't live with myself for another day if I didn't at least try to save what I have left…"

"..."

"..."

"...I'm sorry, Clarence… I'm sorry…"

"..."

"..."

"...I'm sorry too, dad…"


	2. TSoK, Book 2: Final Excerpts

.

There will be no Kings. My name is Theron Halcyon, a disgraced Knight of the Kalosian Royal Guard, and disowned son of Noble House Halcyon. Though you may know me by my titles, rather than mine name. So why does the Devil speak? What words could I possibly offer that would justify my actions?

...There are none. Yet I leave this record regardless. Why? Because this is my story...

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 **The Saga of Kings, Book II: Prophet**

 _Written by,_

 **Vile M.F. Slanders**

 **.\\./.\\./.\\./.\\./.\\./. .\\./.\\./.\\./.\\./.\\./.**

 ***T...T...T...T* *T...T...T...T***

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 **V-._.-V _._ V-._.-V**

 **\\.^./. _-_-_. \\.^./**

 **V** **-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-** **V**

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" _ **...Acérrima Proximorum Odia... (...The hatred of those most nearly connected is the bitterest of all…)"**_ _-Theron Halcyon, spoken moments before the Indigo League's 1,075th Semi-Final match; In reference to his opponent, Zane Bastard._

 **-v-**

 **Prologue: A Vision of Things to Come**

"Back off. Now."

"...Why hello, Zane."

"I'm warning you, TH-"

"Don't waste your time."

"...-"

"-Just what are you trying to do?"

"Heh."

"...TH, I'm begging you-"

"You should know better than that, Ranger."

"Theron, stop this! You're gonna get a lot of people killed!"

"Heh."

"..."

"Hahahah..."

"..."

"...That is the point, Zane."

"The point?!"

"..."

"You're really gonna do this? You know what's gonna happen if you do! You know what's gonna come out of that thing! You know how it's going to end! I thought that you cared about something, Theron! I actually thought that you cared!"

"...She's dead, Zane."

"...Theron… Come on. Come over here, beside me. Please. Just get away from that-"

"No."

"...Why?"

"...You know why, Zane…"

"No, I don't."

"Really? You've seen it. What's coming. Your part in it. You know how that story ends…"

"I can stop it! You don't need to-"

"Yes. I do."

"Theron, trust me! I know what is coming! I will stop it! I have to! And you... And I…"

"...?"

"...I know what you're feeling, Theron..."

"...I don't feel, Zane."

"Yes you do. I've seen Him. The other _you_. The _you_ that was before _The Hole_. I know that _he_ feels."

"...He's gone."

"...You don't mean that."

"I gave him to her, Zane. And now she's gone…"

"...You don't feel, huh?"

"Heh."

"What's that rolling down your cheek, Theron?"

"...Just evidence of a memory. Nothing more."

"I'm sure that she'd love to hear you say that about-"

"Zane. That is enough. You had your chance. You failed."

"I'm not done yet, Theron."

"You can't stop me, Zane. You already know this."

"I'm going to stop you. One way or another."

"Stop me? Zane, both you and I want the same thing-"

"I don't want this! Not this way! We can do it right, Theron! Nobody has to die-"

" _Listen to you, Ranger..._ How many had to die in order to get you this far?"

"Don't even go there. I came here to stop you-"

"And you had to make a sacrifice just to stand where you are now…"

"Theron… If you do this… You could destroy all of it-"

"A sacrifice, Ranger."

"...Theron-"

"-...-"

"-DARWIN, REPORT!"

"...?-"

"-Oh my. Starting with the Legendary Midgar. Are you truly prepared to go this far?"

"Last chance, TH-"

"You still have a role, Zane."

"..."

"This new world… This old world… It needs a Hero. The people will need a Hero."

"Theron, if you don't step away-"

"Zane…"

"..."

"...Please don't make me kill you."

 **.-.-.-.-.**

/_(X)_\

/_-_-_-_\

/. _-_ _ **PKMN**_ _-._ \

 **.-=(CHAMPION)=-.**

\ _*._ _ **Theron**_.*/

\\-.-.-_-.-.-/

\\.-.-.-.-./

\-(X)-/

You know of me.

My name is Theron Virgil Halcyon.

Which I find ironic.

Chiefly because not many refer to me by my name.

The Disgrace of Halcyon.

The Devil of Kalos.

The Eidolon King.

The Prophet.

The Hole.

TH.

These titles are more commonly utilized in reference to me. So much so, that most people don't even know my real name. Maybe it's a blessing, given how history will remember me...

...But it feels like a curse, for the world to know of me, and to not know who I am.

This is not an ego that I speak of. It is a longing, one deeply buried. I know that what I have done warrants some form of social retribution, but even so…

Please... Do not forget who I was.

I present myself to you, disarmed of my allies and machinations.

Naked, I strip myself down to the soul.

I know what love is. I know what joy is. I know what life is, and if ever I was given the chance: I would throw away everything that I am, everything that I have become... just to celebrate what a beautiful thing life is.

I am human, you see?

Not just a ghost.

Not just yet…

Now…

...Where do I go from here?

Ah. I know-

-I'll start with someone else you are familiar with, no doubt.

I'll start with the Hero.

I'll start with Zane Bastard.

That is not his real name of course.

-I know his real name.

Zane Bastard is…

...Almost as monstrous as myself.

Yet unlike me, Zane is unmistakably human in his atrocious nature.

He is the embodiment of the worst that mankind offers, and yet-

-Zane is also counted among the finest representatives of humanity's best qualities.

For those of you who have have not suffered the misfortune of meeting him, Zane is irrefutably the poorest example of morally aligned heroism.

Selfish, self-righteous, arrogant, aloof, ambitious, cold, cruel, conceited, violent, deceitful…

...Caring, compassionate, kind, wise, insightful, humble, brave, generous, loving, selfless…

Heh. Zane…

He is an anomaly.

The perfect analogue of everything human.

Zane and I are very much alike. Every flaw that he exhibits is a reflection of one of my own. Every grace that Zane clings to is a monument that casts the shadow of one of my own. We were both born to families that sought to empower us, before their disgust cast us aside. We both turned away from that prestigious path laid out by our families, all because we would rather do something greater for mankind, instead of simply serving our own interests. We have both endeavored to save humanity from themselves, albeit through slightly different avenues fortified by our completely opposed ideals.

At times, I wonder…

Had I been born as Zane, and if he had been born as Theron…

-Would I have become the Hero, and would Zane have become the Prophet?

...Perhaps fate would have be kinder to me if our roles had been reversed.

-That is not to undermine Zane's suffering.

He has suffered as I have, though in different circumstances and by different means.

He is a cripple, broken in body, wounded in mind and heart.

I am dying so quickly that I can feel it, and my heart bears the same scars of loss that Zane's does.

But in spite of these mundane defects, both Zane and I persist.

In spirit.

In compassion.

And we have both failed you.

Heh.

To think that I am entrusting Zane with the fate of our world…

...No.

-I will speak of it, but only when appropriate.

...That part of the story must wait.

Zane Bastard. The Hero.

My nemesis, my rival, my opposition, my obstacle.

My friend.

Zane would be disturbed to no end if he were to learn of my less than requited perception of our relationship.

Zane Bastard most certainly does not consider me a friend.

It is the definition of pathetic, even for me, to assign a camaraderie to our association.

I am the worst friend there is to have, and Zane is little better.

But he and I know each other, just as well as we know ourselves.

We are after all, in a fashion, the same person.

We just evolved for different environments.

Zane.

I do love him, far more so than I love myself, and I even find myself swayed by his romantic notions of right and wrong...

...But then I open my eyes, and I see the rotting truth in all things.

It is my greatest remaining hope: that I do not need to kill Zane before the end.

The world will need the strong to support the ideals of right and wrong.

Let dying Devils take their ideals of might and meek into Hell with them...

...Enough about the Hero.

Let us discuss the Devil.

-Let us discuss _me_.

I was born as Theron Virgil Halcyon to the Kalosian Noble House Halcyon.

A House of secrets and whispers, hounds and vipers, schemers and liars, spies and enforcers, all loyal to the Kalosian Crown.

My father was Virgil Asob Halcyon, an offshoot cousin of the central family.

I never knew my mother's name. I was never told her name. I don't even know who her family was. None of the Halcyons concern themselves with such trivial matters.

She died at my birth.

Consider it a Halcyon family observance. My mother had to die, in order to provide the optimal sacrifice for my first Channeling.

It seems that the Ghosts extol maternal self-sacrifice.

I have a reason to suspect why, but…

My mind is already too far gone for any further contemplation regarding the Ghosts' existence.

If I devote any more spiritual exploration to them, then I will likely become a spectre myself…

Eidolon hypotheses aside, let us return to my origins. My mother served as the sacrifice in my first Channeling. It's a Halcyon tradition, one that's not too terribly well known. The central family doesn't abide by it, else it would raise suspicion should the daughters of other Noble Houses suddenly disappear after their marriage to a Halcyon.

I was born as a serving class Noble, so my mother's commoner blood runs through my veins.

I'm grateful for it, actually. Otherwise I would likely suffer from anemia, just as many of the core Nobles do.

And given my first Ghost's ascertained fate for me, anemia would have made for a bit of an awkward pairing.

My first Ghost was a Honedge, signifying my destined service to House Halcyon in the King's Royal Guard.

Yes, the Halcyons expect their Ghosts to dictate the futures of their children.

It's not an altogether unbecoming concept.

There are far more misleading forms of guidance to be found in an upbringing.

After all, the Ghosts can see our pathways in two realms, can they not?

To rectify any uncertainties, I was all of a day old when my mother died. I wasn't even an hour old when a Honedge defeated and consumed every other wraith congregated within the Channeling circle. My umbilical cord was newly severed when that Honedge was bound to me as a servant.

And as his bound Channeler, I was linked to that Honedge to serve as his sustenance throughout all of our duties together.

I never had a choice.

Looking back on it, I would have refused if given one.

But then I look forward, and I see what is to come.

My sacrifice may not have been initially willing, but it was necessary.

And in the scale of such necessity, my life and happiness is worth very little.

My first memories were of the nightmares, of course. Such primal terrors invoke instinctive recordings. The Ghosts become even more greedy whenever their Channelers sleep, as the Ghosts have a tendency to consume our emotions through the freedom that we experience in our dreams.

I still remember the first time that I awoke, screaming in terror as Pariah hastened his haunting on the dreaming infantile me.

Pariah…

My first Ghost.

My lifelong companion.

My first constant.

My guardian.

...And the spirit that will deliver me bodily into the Distortion at my life's final ebb.

Pariah's name was determined by mine own choice. Naming your Ghost is one of the few freedoms that a serving class Noble in House Halcyon is allotted. In my early youth, I had few… well, only one friend. Other than Pariah, I should add. It may seem odd to you, referring to the Ghost that is actively killing you as a friend; but when you are naive and lonely, any form of companionship casts an illusion of mutual empathy. And Pariah was the only creature that stood by me throughout most of my youth.

Solitude is something of a Halcyon childhood regularity. My own father rarely spoke to me, not that he had much to say to his only son. He had only conceived me out of duty. His lifelong Channeling had already separated him from any sense of compassion that would have inspired paternal affections. And knowing the Halcyons as I do…

I suspect that my mother was not a willing supplicant for the Halcyon's cursed seed. I have little doubt that she reviled my very existence before my birth killed her.

But then again…

...She did give her life to save her child.

Otherwise Pariah would have slaughtered me, and spared my mother.

It is a shame, really…

I would have liked to have met her.

-Forgive me.

I frequently digress.

It is a habit of those prone to reflection-

- _Listen_ to me.

Heh.

I'm already losing sight of the story. Apologies.

...I decided that the Honedge's name should be Pariah, simply because it summed up my early existence.

I was alone in my youth.

The Halcyon central family had little to do with me.

My father was never there, thanks to some small mercy.

My mother was deceased.

The other serving class Nobles of our House avoided one another.

And the outside world abhorred the name Halcyon.

I was completely isolated from virtually everything, except for my Pariah, who tortured me whenever my eyes closed for want of sleep.

There was only one person whom I could call a true friend.

I am of course, referring to my fiancée.

I know that arranged marriages are somewhat uncommon throughout most of the world, and indeed, even Kalos typically reserves the practice for the Noble class.

But only a month after my birth, my wife-to-be was similarly brought into this world.

Well… without the whole Channeling ritual after birth affair, but-

-She was like me, born as a serving class Noble.

Marriage is a rare union for the serving class Nobles in House Halcyon.

My father likely kidnapped his "wife" from her bed, before forcing her to bear his child.

I would have likely followed in his footsteps…

-But I was born at a timely moment, when both House Halcyon and House Le-Faye sought to foster a politically beneficial relationship with one another.

I was to serve House Halcyon in a context of our end of the bargain.

And Valerie was to serve House Le-Faye comparably in theirs.

Our first meeting…

I can still feel the ghost of a smile just remembering it.

Unlike a hound of Halcyon, Valerie had been raised as a proper Court Lady, with plenty of exposure to the outside world and the Kalosian nobility, regardless of her lesser birth.

She was so colorful, especially back then, when we were both so young…

...Back when we could both see the world with our own eyes…

...I must confess, I was initially afraid of her.

-Can you believe that?

The future Devil of Kalos, beside himself with terror when brought before this warm and playful girl?

It still makes me laugh…

...Even now, when her memory moistens my eyes…

Valerie was not cruel to me, not at all.

We were to be married.

I was to be her gallant Knight Theron, and Valerie was to be my beautiful Lady-Courtier.

-That is how Noble children play "house," for those of you confused by the imagery.

But I was ever so wretched at being Lady Valerie's Noble Knight Theron.

I blame Pariah for that.

Even a minor Distortion seep is perceivable on a primeval level.

Even a toddler could tell that I was haunted.

It took Valerie years of exposure before she became accustomed to a Ghost's presence.

 _But even as a child, she made the effort to stand there beside me…_

...Valerie was ever so beautiful…

...And I was ever so unworthy.

Back then, I didn't know what would become of me.

I was still innocent, if I may use that unbefitting term in accordance with my being. I didn't know that one day, I would lose everything that I cherished, merely because I could no longer experience such heartfelt sensations ever again.

I didn't know that Pariah was going to destroy my humanity.

It is difficult to explain it. I know full well what I am missing. I know very well what it is that I cannot feel…

...But I must struggle just to hold onto its loss, otherwise the cruel apathy would destroy any semblance of compassion that I have left.

I need my compassion, no matter the pain it inspires.

Else I would join the rest of my family as another living wraith.

But what I have done…

And what I have become…

I did it all for Valerie.

And I would do it all over again, if only for the love she showed me.

That love resides within all of humanity, and that imperfect and flawed trait is the sole reason for why I seek your preservation.

The world would be empty without it.

-And as empty as I am, I do not seek to leave behind an equally empty world.

...I am once again, diverting the story from its intended course.

-I am truly _terrible_ at this.

Heh.

Well, as we say in Kalos...

"Once more against the concordant of the court."

At my sixth birthday, I was taken from House Halcyon, and delivered to Parfum Palace, in order to serve in the capacity of an Esquire of the Royal Guard.

It was not the most glamorous of Noble duties, but as a member of the serving class, it was expected of me.

At eight years of age, I was made into a Squire-Sergeant and awarded with my first baldric and full set of platemail.

Then I was presented with my heraldry, when the Royal Guard made me into a full fledged Knight at nine years of age, setting a precedent that remained unrivalled even in the annals of history.

I wasn't made into a Knight at nine years of age because of family favors, unlike many of the children Knights of yore.

I was made into a child Knight because I had earned my station through mettle and service, and for a nine-year old, I was surprisingly mature.

...Zane isn't the only one who aspired to greatness in spite of his youth.

Even if my mortal term was destined to be a life of duty and service, I would meet such an existence valiantly.

Eleven years of age was a turning point in my life.

I was bound to a second Ghost, this one of my choosing.

A Litwick, who's unhallowed light would guide me through every prestigious order in the Kalosian Knighthood.

My sweet little Thanatos. The future _Perdition's Glow._

Or my "Lamp," as Zane has dubbed him.

Litwicks are a revered symbol of wisdom and philosophy in House Halcyon.

Our family's scribes and poets are always birth-bound to a Litwick.

But Thanatos was to serve me as a docent throughout the court and sub-courts of Parfum Palace…

-Detecting and routing every dissident to the Crown that dared to stand within the King's presence.

The Soul-burners generate a curious little light.

A Soul-burner's flame casts a shadow that manifests itself as a reflection in the Distortion.

All shadows. Even your shadow.

And your shadow betrays your intentions to the eyes of a Ghost.

Thanatos effectively secured me a position in the highest of Kalosian Knightly orders.

-The Knights of the Crownguard.

It was the King himself who requested that my family bestow another spirit unto me, so as to serve his majesty all the more effectively within his personal guard.

And that is how the thirteen year-old me entered into a union with Demeter.

Of all my spirits, there is one dreaded above all others; if not for her prowess, then for her application instead.

My Demeter.

My Inquisitor.

 _The Garden of Agony._

My Trevenant, Demeter, was bound to me as a symbol of House Halcyon's highest honors.

Demeter is one of the Halcyon Heirlooms, the prized eidolons normally reserved for the central family.

Demeter has served House Halcyon for centuries, passed down from one generation of Channelers to the next, earning her place amongst the most revered of revenants in our family's service.

House Halcyon keeps this Ghost within our family for countless reasons, though primarily because there is no more a sadistic spirit in all of the Distortion as my dearest Demeter.

But my service to the King had placed me in a politically advantageous position for House Halcyon.

As a member of the Crownguard, every merit my station garnered was reflected within the very eyes of the King. My every virtue would be measured as a testament to House Halcyon's loyalty to the Crown.

In order to secure his majesty's future graces, House Halcyon had granted an Heirloom Ghost to one of their lesser brood.

-And Demeter served House Halcyon's interests well.

Between Pariah's prowess, Thanatos's awareness, Demeter's interrogation skills, and my own devotion to the Crown's service…

The whole of Parfum Palace was scoured clean of detractors and debasers within a year.

I became a minor celebrity in the King's Court.

My fellow Knights devised the first of mine titles, one that was adopted by the higher-ranking Nobility in Parfum's Court, and subsequently passed into the public's ear years later when the next fork in life's road presented itself to me.

" _The Hole."_

With just three Ghosts, my haunting was already potent enough to be perceived within a distance of a few meters. Passersby could detect my oppressive presence, heralded by the Distortion seep that my collection of Ghosts exuded.

Due in part to the King's implicit trust of my oath-bound word, and my reputation as his Royal Inquisitor, my supernatural aura became something of a morbid joke amongst the Knights and the Nobility of the Royal Court.

"Don't cross _The Hole_ , unless you want a _private_ word with the King."

Even I laughed at that sentiment.

-For the same reason that they laughed.

They were afraid of me, and the laughter could transpose an undying ghost with a bleeding man.

And even if it was just for a pretense…

...It felt good to laugh with others.

I'm surprised that they didn't just start calling me "Sir Hole," given how frequently the Nobility used that title. Several of my fellow Knights deepened the irony by propagating crude jokes regarding a confluence between the codes of chivalry and my union with the infernal apparitions.

But to my face, I was only ever called-

"Sir Theron."

Or when I was announced at Court-

"Sir Theron, of House Halcyon."

-Did you assume that I was jesting when I claimed to have once served as a Knight in the Kalosian Royal Court?

Can you imagine me in heraldry platemail, festooned with the Crownguard's ceinture tied from one shoulder to the opposite waist, and the edges of a Doublade sheathed in scabbards at either hip?

A startling image?

-I'm not too terribly surprised.

Most foreigners are mystified upon discovering that the Devil of Kalos once served as an honorable Knight.

...But most foreigners have a very un-Kalosian image of a Knight.

They forget that the codes of chivalry come second to the service of a King.

And the service to a tyrant is a damning service, to say the least.

So in light of such tyrants, this anecdote turns its quill onto King Allan of Ruling House Arturia.

The pompous fool actually envisions himself as my rival.

-But he is no King.

Pariah would have alerted me to the presence of another King, if Allan Arturia's authority actually represented a threat to mine sovereignty.

...Just as Pariah did, back when we first met Zane in Viridian City.

 _-The Bastard King…_

Pariah knew who Zane was before anyone else realized it.

It took The Prophet a pair of Gym battles to see it.

It may seem bizarre that Zane's and mine rivalry was not born of a "Game of Thrones," per se…

But rather, in a contest of ideology.

A common goal, achieved through different means for similar ends.

We differ at a crossroads.

But we both strive for the same destination.

Zane has brought more doubt into my existence than any of mine experiences prior to our meeting. And from those sown doubts, I have only reaped deeper convictions.

And I have enlightened Zane as to what will become of our world should he play only the role of a pawn in it.

Like rivalry in all things, the opposition presented within its composition has strengthened the foundations that both proponents have set themselves upon.

We have both become all the greater because of it.

And just like every rivalry, the conclusion of our contest will determine a decisive victor and a defined loser.

...Perhaps it is still too early for me to claim the crown.

...For Zane is ever the one to purvey surprises...

-Dear me, I am positively dreadful at providing coherent and jointed exposition, am I not?

...Very well.

I will continue on with the tale.

My station in the Crownguard placed me under the authority of Lord Gregory of House Wikstrom.

He's known in Kalos as " _The Crown's Gauntlet"._

Lord Gregory Wikstrom is the Knight-Commander of the Kalosian Crownguard.

And he is the final contest that stands between the Kalos League Challengers and the Kalos League Champion.

As well as his duties to the Crown, Lord Gregory Wikstrom also serves the Kalosian League as the ultimate member of the Elite Four.

A Noble Steel-Type specialist.

Hence the title, "The Crown's Gauntlet".

Lord Gregory Wikstrom's position on the Elite Four was not freely granted to him by the inheritance of his noble rank. Rather, such a lofty station was awarded to the Iron Lord by the deserving merit of his skill in battle.

And though he may have been a formidable opponent…

-Lord Wikstrom was absolutely nothing compared to his Champion.

Which brings us to the next character in this Kalosian royal drama. Lord Gregory Wikstrom did not merely maintain his rank on the Elite Four by prowess alone. For the Iron Lord also serves the Crown as the Royal sibling's bodyguard.

The fairest Lady in all of Kalos.

Princess Diantha of Ruling House Arturia.

The _previous_ Kalos League Champion.

-Even the mongrels of Indigo know who she is.

" _The Queen-Regent of Glamour."_

You've probably seen plenty of Diantha's movies.

Diantha's cinemas have made aught but shame of Virbank Studio's gross attempts at entertainment whenever the two have clashed in the international box office.

Kalosian refinery trumps Unovian savagery at every convocation.

...Pardon me.

Nationalism is a dirty habit that I have yet to dissuade myself from.

-But I hold this frail Kantonese coffee accountable for my embittered mood.

Its lack of barista adherence only leaves me yearning for my home…

...Yes, I will have another cup. Thank you.

-If not to savor, then at least to inspire fond musings within my forlorn memoirs…

Diantha was unlike her brother, Allan, in many ways.

For starters, she had a spine.

Yet by the detriment of her sex, Diantha was forced to forfeit her claim to the Crown in favor of her younger male sibling.

Despite this archaic royal doctrine, Diantha was fiercely loyal to her brother.

I would go so far as to suggest that the successes of King Allan would not have been possible without the support of his older sister and her influences.

The people of Kalos detest King Allan.

But they love his sister, Princess Diantha.

Of all the greatest tragedies brought about by my ascent in Kalos, I regret none more than the injustice that I visited upon Diantha.

The people of Kalos revere Diantha for a reason.

As well as a spine separating her from her brother, Diantha also possessed a heart.

...A heart that I destroyed when Diantha and myself met in last season's Kalosian Championship Finale…

...Well then...

-Pressing on.

Between Lord Wikstrom and Princess Diantha, who were customarily present at the Parfum Court during the League's extensive offseasons, I had plenty of exposure to the hierarchy of the Kalosian League.

As a matter of fact, my involvement within the Kalosian League would never have come to fruition without the graces of fair Princess Diantha.

It was Diantha herself, who took a fourteen-year old Sir Theron as her armed escort to the nearby Santalune League Gymnasium.

Diantha claimed that it was only another photoshoot for her next cinematic production, but that was ever a clever ruse.

Diantha wanted a Halcyon to compete within the Kalosian League.

-And as well as her photoshoot, Diantha had also arranged my first challenge against a Gymnase Meister without my knowing.

Diantha was extremely pro-League. More so than any other region's Champion.

It was the seat of her power, and Diantha sought to design such an extravagant League throne for herself, that it would rival the majesty of her Crowned brother's hall.

...A pity for them both, I inherited Diantha's empowered throne when I assumed the role of the Kalos League Champion.

The Kalosian League operates almost identically to the Indigo League, so Diantha, or myself, possesses the resources and influences befitting a Regent of Kalos.

I must grant the bureaucratic engineers of Kanto their due accolades.

Just as every other Regional League in the world has done, Kalos has replicated Kanto's flawless League syndicate, barring a few differences in the finals, of course.

Kanto may seem uncouth to the common Kalosian perspective.

-But they have spawned more cultural genius in the post-Brink era than any other region still standing.

And even if Kanto plays host to a nation of uncivilized and self-conceited ignoramuses…

They're still a damn sight more pleasing to the Kalosian perspective than the bloodthirsty and paranoid Unovians.

-I am terribly sorry.

Please, forgive the obscenity.

-I'm afraid that my time spent in company to Zane Bastard has infected me with his blatant disregard for decency.

But as it stood, that first Gymnase challenge in Santalune awoke something within me.

Something that I had never felt before.

It was a flawless victory, one of many that would follow, but it was not the triumph in battle that inspired me to continue.

Upon receiving my first Gymnase Sigil, it was Diantha's proud smile that told me:

" _You can be more than a hound of Halcyon."_

Service is what I had been born into. Duty was the only sense of self that I had ever been permitted to know.

And now, some vestige of freedom had been revealed to me.

I knew that I could become something greater than a mere hound.

Because of Diantha, I knew that this Knight Theron could defy his fate if he so willed it.

...Perhaps that is why I have never lost.

I can't afford to lose.

To do so would be to forfeit to that fate.

...And I have come too far, and sacrificed too much to allow myself to plummet down _that_ hole.

It was Diantha who negotiated with King Allan for my timely release from duty, so that I could experience the League's offerings in full.

I challenged the Kalos League Gymnase Meisters for their Sigils, and in doing so, I drew the attention of the Kalosian media.

It's not everyday that a Halcyon steps out of the shadows and shamelessly displays his family's terrifying power in full view of the public. The world rarely plays audience to a Channeler who seemingly aspires for the throne of a Champion. My adroitness as a Halcyon Shadow and my Knightly station within the Crownguard garnered much of the public's awareness. For little reason other than the contradiction aroused by my sinister origins and gallant bearing, I inherited my own minor form of influence in Kalos. Some might even call it-

-A Fan Club.

"The Hole" was soon known throughout all of Kalos, boldly exhibiting both the majesty of the Crownguard and the horrors of House Halcyon.

It was the triumphs and glories that I brought to House Halcyon in that pursuit which earned me the limit breaker of all Channelers.

You see, we Channelers generally only wield a maximum of three revenants.

The common theory as to why this is, is that anymore Channelings would effectively cut our lifetimes in half.

But that in itself, is only half of the equation.

Three bound Ghosts extorts an incredible caliber of strain on a Channeler's spiritual and mental constitutions.

They change us, dramatically altering our mannerisms and personalities.

We start to lose sight of who we are, and we begin to become one with the eidolons.

...In short, we die and are reborn as monsters, still living within the husks of the men we were before.

It takes time, of course. The effects are not immediately apparent.

But that third Ghost taxes your haunted soul so severely that you can feel yourself dying.

And House Halcyon had decided that their Knight Theron, the closest article our Noble House had to an overt operative, a public representative of the Halcyon family's prowess…

...Deserved a fourth revenant.

That is how another Halcyon Heirloom worked its way into my possession, along with the corresponding artifacts required to extract his full potential.

 _Exodus, the White Shadow._

The gem of my family's spectre collection. Our eidolon of war.

The most powerful primeval spirit that House Halcyon can summon.

My pale jester.

My laughing killer.

My cruelest weapon.

 _Exodus_ , my bleached Gengar.

The title confounds many, upon their first encounter with Exodus.

He does not immediately display his snowy complexion, nor does he seem all that dissimilar from every other Gengar in existence.

Exodus requires me to draw that hoary power out of the Distortion for him.

As a Noble House of Kalos, the Halcyons have access to an ancient artifact, one of those legends originally conceived by the mad tyrant AZ.

A Keystone, and a correlated Mega-stone.

They passed into my possession when Exodus was entrusted to me.

And I have abused the power of an unshackled Gengar beyond the point of all redemption, though I should add, at a great cost to myself.

There is no revenant in all of existence that can compare to an unbound Exodus's arrant power.

He can bring the Distortion into the waking world, not merely drag his victims there.

And in such an inverted Distortion rift, Exodus transcends from a lowly terror and into an immutable God of Nightmares.

No other Noble House of Kalos possesses an immortal pagan deity who is sworn to their service.

No other Noble House has a rival for Exodus.

That much was made perfectly clear when I swept the entire congress of Kalosian Gymnase Meisters beneath the wake of their own ruin.

So it came to be, that I was doomed to represent my Noble House in both the Royal Court and the public eye as the Invincible Sir Theron of House Halcyon.

Or as Diantha once dubbed me, " _The Crown's Shadow."_

That title is no longer utilized in reference to me. No soul in Kalos would dare utter it, for they fear to incur the wrath of the frightened King, Allan Arturia…

...Or worse, the wrath of _The Eidolon King, Theron Halcyon._

Yet even a fourth Ghost feeding from my soul did not grant me the Prophet's Eyes that have cursed mine sight and the vision of all whom meet my gaze.

The Prophet's Eyes were not opened until I came to possess a fifth Ghost.

My ocular aberrations are unprecedented.

I am the first living human being to have ever seen the world with the same eyes that the Ghosts do.

No man who has come before me has ever mastered a fifth Channeling.

-Not without dying first, anyways.

...And it is hardly considered mastery when its glory elapses in the breath of one final scream.

But an additional cost for the spirits' service has left my vision plagued by the shadows of the Distortion. I see the ends of all paths in my vision. I know the outcomes of every event before they even begin fruition. Yet despite this foresight, mine vision does not grant me clarity.

The ends are ever changing. Every preceding event in the present alters the pre-established course of every future pathway. I have discovered, at a grave expense, that it is futile to prepare for just one eventuality. Such preparations affect the outcome of that eventuality, and every move taken against it can alter the end result so completely that timely adjustment becomes impossible.

Through the shadows of the Distortion, my eyes behold the fibrous flow of time. I see what is to come. I see what may come. I see what will pass. I see what may follow. And though it can all be adapted... It is all inescapable.

-There are some fates that cannot be revoked.

...Yet I will still endeavor to contest the parsimony of predestination itself.

One might refer to such an outrageous agenda as, "shaping one's own fate," though I reject the orthodox concept of fate, even if mine eyes have already shown me the paths to all ends.

...Including my own...

The Distortion and its interdimensional avenues are a peculiar frontier. I do not know how much of my being resides within that unhallowed realm, borne into the abyss by ways and means of my revenants' insatiable appetites…

...But I am that close to becoming a living Ghost.

And I can only hope that my death frees me from that fate.

...Even if I have already seen what awaits me in death…

-And even if I realize the futility in _hoping_ …

...Do not pity me.

I have made myself into a Devil for your sake.

Only a Devil can do what is necessary to save humanity.

-And you will hate me for it.

I expect you to spit upon my titles, and blacken my memory with the greatest of my sins.

But nonetheless, I am compelled to leave behind some account…

-Some legacy that defines who I was…

...So that Theron Halcyon is never truly forgotten…

My story begins one year before Zane's did, back when I still called Kalos my home.

Back when I was still Sir Theron of House Halcyon.

...Back when I still knew who he was…

 **...**

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 **.-.**

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _This was written but a few weeks after TH's introduction in Book I. Since that time, TH's prologue has undergone numerous rewrites/revisions, as my proficiency at storytelling has evolved. I will never claim to be perfect in my favored format, but I can state with confidence: that I am far more developed as a writer because of my experiences in writing, than I was when I first wrote the original draft for Theron's prologue._

 _It's because of trial and error that I advanced beyond simple shock factor, and embraced depth through metaphors, that I was able to portray Theron in such a light. I do not see Theron as the villian in TSoK. I see him as the antithesis to Zane's ideology; a selfless victim who condemns himself for a long-term agenda that ultimately benefits mankind._

 _But a devil is a devil, regardless of the ends they use to justify their means._

 _I love Theron, as I have loved no other original creation before him. But I cannot condone the immorality of his actions, regardless of his intents._

 _Because of this, I hate Theron; as I hate any despot or delusional tyrant that serves as an analogue of human corruption._

 _To give rise to hope; and betray such hope;_

 _To offer condolences, when there is no sincerity behind the action…_

 _To reach out to others, and then to abandon them…_

 _And to do it all in self-sacrifice for a greater good._

 _I love Theron for all the reasons I hate him._

 _And that contradiction…_

 _That fantastical paradox…_

 _...Was what inspired me to take TSoK as far as I did._

 **.**

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 **The Saga of Kings, Book II: Prophet**

 _Written by,_

 **Vile M.F. Slanders**

 **.\\./.\\./.\\./.\\./.\\./. .\\./.\\./.\\./.\\./.\\./.**

 ***T...T...T...T* *T...T...T...T***

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 **V-._.-V _._ V-._.-V**

 **\\.^./. _-_-_. \\.^./**

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" _ **...Eram quod es, eris quod sum… (...I was what you are, you will be what I am…)"**_ _The Channeler's Incantation, spoken with the tongue of the spirit; Closing vow._

 **-v-**

 **Chapter I: The Crown's Shadow**

"You see?"

"Yes, I see."

"Three stones."

"..."

"One for mommy..."

"..."

"One for daddy..."

"..."

"-And this one is Todd's."

"...I see."

"Mommy and daddy haven't woken up yet, but Todd always woke up before everyone else did… So now Todd and I are just waiting for mommy and daddy to wake up too."

"...Amy-"

"Can I ask you something, mister?"

"...What would you like to know, Amy?"

"...Well…"

"...?"

"...Those eyes. What do you see with them?"

"…Not a world for children, Amy."

"What does that mean?"

"..."

"Mister?"

"..."

"Why are you crying?"

"..."

"Are you waiting for your mommy and daddy to wake up too?"

"Amy, please… If my parents are Ghosts, then I have no desire to meet them."

"Why?"

"..."

"Why not? You can have your family again. Everyone can be together… Just like they were before they all died…"

"...That is not a wholesome reunion, Amy…"

"...But I want to see them again…"

"They're gone, child. And you should hope that they stay that way."

"But Todd came back to me! My little brother came back-"

"ENOUGH!"

"...?!"

"That… thing… That… abomination… is not your little brother, Amy."

"Of course he is! It's Todd! He came back to me! He came back-"

"..."

"...?!"

"..."

"...Mister… I can't breathe-!"

"Be silent, Amy. It will all be over soon."

"...Please… Let me breathe-"

"Shhh, child. Shhh. Just close your eyes. Please, just close your eyes. I will accompany you on the first crossing… I will be right beside you, Amy... When your Ghost delivers you into the Distortion."

"...!"

"Exodus, Typhon. I expect your assistance within the Distortion. Pariah, you will follow us…"

"...-"

"...And you will kill that wretched Duskull the instant it releases its Channeler."

"...!?"

"Stop struggling, Amy. It's almost over."

" _-My... -brother-!"_

"...Will never see his hellbound sister again. This is our doom, Amy. We are destined to become Ghosts ourselves for casting our lot in with theirs. I am truly sorry..."

"...!...-"

"...For the hell that lies in waiting is no place for a child."

"..."

"..."

"...!-"

"Shh…"

"...-..."

"...Close your eyes, Amy. Let this Devil bear you away before our shared fate claims your innocence…"

"..."

"...Let me shoulder the sin of your end, before your Ghost robs you of who you are…"

"...-...-"

"Shh…"

"..."

"..."

"..."

"...Sleep, child. May whatever horror that condemns us find mercy in its judgement, and separate you from your Ghost... Before the last tattered veil falls…"

"..."

"..."

"..."

"...Goodbye, Amy. I will pray for you, in hopes that we never meet again..."

…

"Thanatos, begin."

The Chandelure above me sputtered and hissed as a torrent of soulfire whirled about in his cracked lanturn. An intense gray light filled my personal quarters with a drying heat.

"Connect, and feed me the whispers."

I felt Thanatos reach through the Distortion, and into my being through the link that tied our wills together as one.

"Exodus, fill the shadows. Bring me the visions."

The illuminated face of my Gengar responded accordingly, sinking into the shadow that my form cast in Thanatos's light.

"Connect as one."

Now Exodus imparted his being into mine and Thanatos's, and the three of us became a single entity, with only one governing awareness.

-My own.

" _The elegance of Lady Alistair is simply overwhelming-"_

" _I'll bet you four Mintz. Best two out of-"_

" _-The Sinnoh Theocracy is growing anxious with our inaction. They want to know if we'll tolerate Unova's expansion into the Ellis archipelago-"_

" _Hail, Sir Ramsey! Where have you been, you salty old dog-"_

" _-Princess Diantha arrived earlier today on the back of her giant Aurous! I can't believe that such a delicate woman is comfortable-"_

" _-We have reason to believe that Unova's expansion into Sinnoh's coastal waters is nothing more than preliminary resource prospecting. But a survey team should be deployed into the Ellis archipelago to investigate, just in case-"_

" _-I want a Luxio! Daddy said that I could have a Luxio! Where is my Luxio-"_

" _Try the kalamata semolina next. But only with a little garum creme. The olives can clash rather terribly with an excess of the anchovy's-"_

" _-Anyone seen Lord Wikstrom? He said he was off to find The Hole a little while ago-"_

" _NO! I didn't! I swear that I didn't! I would never betray the King-"_

" _Cordial, Samantha, cordial! A Lady Courtier must appear cordial-"_

" _-It is by our royal decree that the dishonorable Sir Mayhorn be executed at noontime tomorrow. We deign that the execution be meted out in full view of the public eye, so that all of Kalos witnesses the fate of conspirators against our sovereignty-"_

" _-You feel that? Like… Something is watching you? ...I think that The Hole is at it again-"_

" _-I swear, if that bloody Knight tracks mud into the front hall one more time, I'm going straight to the King-"_

"Sir Theron."

My eyes opened and the voices ceased. I severed the connection with my two spirits, and dimmed Thanatos's ghostly light.

"Lord Wikstrom. What is the King's will?" I greeted the Knight-Commander of the Crownguard in a steady rise.

The Iron Lord was not alone. Schizm, my superior's Bisharp, stood at Lord Wikstrom's left shoulder; Dammerung, his Bronzong hovered behind the pair.

"...I hope that I'm not interrupting anything important." Lord Wikstrom's lip curled, despite the concerned tone that he addressed me with.

"There is currently little of interest to be heard within Parfum. I have no reason to believe that this exchange will distract me from any threats to the Crown. And given the fates of our last cabal of conspirators, I very much doubt that any other guests of Parfum would dare entertain notions of betrayal so readily." I reported in a dry voice. Knight-Commander Gregory Wikstrom cleared his throat.

"Yes, it was an impressive feat you managed, pinning down Sir Mayhorn's contact in the revolutionary movement without even having to speak with the disgraced Knight. They're both being interrogated as we speak. I'm sure that you would have enjoyed overseeing their torture, but my King has need of Demeter's skills elsewhere. You have been summoned to the Black Hall. We have a… guest for you and your spirits to entertain." Lord Wikstrom announced.

"The ACE defector? I heard that some of his story aroused suspicion." I mused, as Thanatos departed from his roost in the eaves and settled himself above my right shoulder.

The Iron Lord fixed a pair of cold brown eyes on me.

"What do you not hear, Sir Theron?" Lord Wikstrom asked me severely.

I could have smiled at him, but I had little want to unnerve my superior anymore than I already had. Schizm and Dammerung had been deployed in an effort to conceal Lord Wikstrom from my spirits, and though their telepathic barriers and Distortion interference could prevent mine revenant's from discerning the world through the Iron Lord's senses…

...I could still observe Lord Wikstrom's movements and his words through the eyes and ears of those who _watched_ him.

"Very little." I replied in a detached voice.

Lord Wikstrom straightened and stiffened his shoulders against the rising shudder. He was standing in the penumbra of my Distortion seep, and even the Iron Lord was susceptible to my spirits' malice.

I rarely noticed it anymore.

I had been born to such misery.

"Accompany me to the Black Hall, Sir Theron. It would be most discourteous of us to keep our guest from ACE waiting." Lord Wikstrom pivoted on a heel, and I made to follow my superior through Parfum's Gilded Long Gallery.

Thanatos hovered above me, while Exodus remained hidden within my shadow.

Our commune was not yet over.

The servants, Knights, and guests of honor all parted before the Iron Lord, The Hole, and the four Pokemon that accompanied them. While Lord Wikstrom's station as Knight-Commander of the Crownguard warranted such social adherence, my presence only served to exacerbate it.

Nobody wanted to be caught within the light of Thanatos.

Nobody wanted their shadow violated by Exodus.

Nobody wanted their secrets known to The Hole.

"Need I debrief you on the specifics, or are you already aware of the King's concerns?" Lord Wikstrom curtly asked me upon our arrival to the Black Hall.

I couldn't help it.

-I just had to smile.

Lord Wikstrom witnessed that slow knowing smirk curl the left corner of my mouth.

The Iron Lord couldn't withhold this shudder.

-It was borne upon his very breath.

"...Saves me the time." Lord Wikstrom saved some dignity by acknowledging my efficiency. We approached the stairwell that led down into the Black Hall's Undercroft, and together, the two most infamous members of the Crownguard descended below the the earth to where our ACE defector's accommodations had been provided.

"Knight of the Fringe, the Crownguard has come to relieve you." Lord Wikstrom dismissed the chamber guard, whom rapped upon the great wooden door at his shoulder. Shortly after his gesture, three more Fringe Knights vacated the premise behind the door.

"Sir Theron, ACE awaits your adjudication." Lord Wikstrom stood aside, and motioned to the door.

It didn't surprise me that the Iron Lord was demoting himself to the role of Chamber Warden.

Not even the King himself could stomach spectating the machinations of Sir Theron at an inquiry.

I proceeded into the chamber beyond alone, at least as far as appearances are concerned.

-But I am never truly alone.

It was a small, dimly lit room; free of senseless decorum or unnecessary comforts. It was simply a single pockmarked wooden table contained within four rough-hewn stone and mortar walls.

-And of course, a bruised and bleeding man, bound to a chair on the far side of the table.

"...Oh hell no…"

The ACE defector didn't seem particularly happy to see me.

Or to feel the greeting that my Ghosts had prepared for him upon our arrival to his cell.

"Monsieur Arnold. I am Sir Theron of House Halcyon. I don't believe that we have met before?"

Unlike many a Knight, I appreciate the codes of chivalry.

-Courtesy is ever a deceptive ploy.

"I told your King, I just wanted out of ACE… I offered you information-"

"-Yes, information that we already possessed. Which only breeds suspicion as to your presence and agenda within Kalos. You have yet to establish a definitive motive for your defection. Simply desiring freedom from ACE's 'shady developments' does not constitute reason enough for your coming before the Kalosian Crown with a plea for asylum. We must know what 'shady developments' inspired you to commit an act of treason." I took my seat across from the ACE defector.

This Gerald Arnold claimed to be the very same Vice-Marshal Gerald Arnold that had maintained a lofty position in ACE's Executive hierarchy. Information regarding his identity was scarce, due in part to ACE's rather capable security measures, but we believed that this Gerald Arnold was truly who he claimed to be. A glance could clarify that this individual was in his late-fifties, heavily greyed at his receding hairline, and his excessive paunch fed reason to suspect his involvement in ACE's bureaucracy.

Very few ACE field operatives would be so woefully unfit, and his manner of speech had pegged him for a higher class than a simple desk jockey.

-At least, his manner of speech prior to his interrogation.

"Please, you have to believe me-"

"-Thanatos, I find it quite gloomy in here. Would you provide us with your light?"

My invisible Ghost made his presence known with the roar of his soulfire.

The ACE Executive gaped in terror at the stained glass candelabra that hovered above us, radiating a gray aura of unhallowed light.

"Thank you, Thanatos." Mine eyes had never left the beaten ACE executive, and my polite tone had not once shifted from its cordial track.

"Monsieur Arnold, I must confess that I hold the advantage in this deliberation. There are four Ghosts in this room with us, all of which are loyal to me. Now if ACE has divulged the contents of my dossier to you, then you should be well aware of what other three Ghosts adhere to my command. As a courtesy to your inadequate preparations, I shall use only three of my spirits in this inquiry. Exodus-" I flicked my arm at the elbow in an easy gesture of command.

"-Take his shadow."

My own shadow grew massive in Thanatos's sterile light, and the flattened eyes and mouth of a Gengar formed at its core. Exodus's true form could only be seen when the Ghost leapt between shadows, and the primeval and warped shape of a Gengar unbound from the darkness is not a figure that the human mind can record in any psychological medium; save for the images invoked within the most primal of our species's nightmares.

Monsieur Arnold was treated to a little horror show as Exodus's vaporous form clambered across the table towards him, the signature grinning mouth and lidless eyes were now portrayed in bleeding three dimensional relief, detailing the malicious gluttony that imbues the features of every Gengar.

Exodus linked with Monsieur Arnold's shadow, and now that the Crown's guest was haunted by my own Channeled Ghost…

...His self-dictation had simply been revoked. Every fiber and current of Monsieur Arnold's physical being was now slaved to my will.

"Are you thirsty, Monsieur Arnold? It is rather dry in this room. Would you be so kind as to pour yourself and I a drink?" My tone was still that innocent courtesy, further poisoning the resolve of any who held such mannerisms dear.

My ACE correspondent raised a puppeted arm, yet its sudden ascent for a platter of cups and a pitcher was halted by the chain that bound his limb to the chair.

But no mere chain would prevent Exodus from fulfilling his master's will.

Monsieur Arnold began to scream as the manacle tore into his flesh and strained against his right radius and ulna. I returned dictation to Monsieur Arnold's left arm, just so that he could attempt to wrestle his possessed limb into submission with its unhaunted twin.

But despite both arms being of an equal part of his meek body, one limb was governed by a Gengar, and no living flesh would ever possess the strength required to deny the White Shadow's sovereignty.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry. Allow me." I returned full dictation to Monsieur Arnold, who collapsed back into his chair, sobbing and nursing a bleeding forearm.

I poured a cup first for him, and then one for myself. Drinking deeply of the cold water, I once more turned my attention to the King's weeping guest.

"So you have met mine Exodus and mine Thanatos. Do you know the names of the other two Ghosts in my service?" I continued on in that pleasant tone, once more brimming my cup of water.

Monsieur Arnold had neglected to sample his liquid refreshment, but the sudden appearance of black veins in his cup might have had something to do with the ACE Executive's hesitation.

"Ah, Demeter… You are so eager to be introduced. Forgive my Trevenant's enthusiasm, Monsieur Arnold. She is ever so incorrigible when presented with new faces. Please-"

I smiled warmly at my guest.

"-Drink, for you have no doubt much to speak of."

Once again, Exodus claimed Monsieur Arnold's dictation, and the writhing cup of water was raised to Monsieur Arnold's quivering chin by his own shaking hand.

Exodus parted Monsieur Arnold's unwilling lips, and Demeter's roots reached into his mouth with a deliberate slowness, tentatively probing the moist interior with her fetid appendages.

Then something appalling crawled out of the cup, and flailed its way down Monsieur Arnold's throat, choking him in its violent invasion.

"Three Ghosts, Monsieur Arnold. A mercy for you." I settled back into mine chair, as my pleasant tone gave way at last to one more suitable for the occasion. Dark. Pensive. Serious.

My guest could only retch as Demeter took root within him, and blood soon accompanied the vomit that erupted from Monsieur Arnold's gagging mouth.

"Would you appreciate an explanation of the situation that jeopardizes your very sanctity? Or have you already deduced what spirit performs what role in this inquiry?" I asked in my heartless tone.

Monsieur Arnold had begun to spasm. His weeping was now broken by painful squeals and moans.

"Softly, my sweet Demeter… Let's take it slowly on his first time, shall we?" The courteous tone found its way into my voice again, accompanied by my cold half smile. The spasms ceased. Monsieur Arnold had curled over himself, sobbing in piteous despair.

"Given your silence, I will assume that you are ignorant as to the present eidolons and their pertaining functions in my proceedings. I will explain each spirit's' role to you in parts. Thanatos-" I gestured to the Chandelure above us with an airy motion.

"-Will reveal your lies. I would advise you to not entertain any deceptions within Thanatos's light, else the other two spirits have leave to punish you for your attempts at treachery. Exodus-" A warped and guttural chuckle, mingling with the chorus of the Distortion answered me, born from Monsieur Arnold's own shadow.

"-Will detect and break any and all resistances that your agency may have imparted you with. No psionic wards will protect your secrets from your own haunted shadow. Even telepathically repressed memories will be exposed, and neural impedance is no guard against Exodus's methods. As for my dearly beloved Demeter-" Monsieur Arnold gagged as Demeter squirmed within him, heeding my call with the closest expression a Ghost could display to affection.

"-Well, if you haven't already discerned her role… You really are just an easy meal…"

A full smile accompanied that declaration, wicked in its malevolent charm, and mocking in its chilling apathy.

"So now I extend to you yet another mercy. Speak freely as to why you have come before the Kalosian Crown in an act of treason against your own kinsman. An honest answer will relieve you of any further agony. A dishonest or evasive answer will only provide you with the contrary." I set my drink aside, and gave my fullest attention to the broken man before me.

"...I was afraid..."

"-So you claim. Of what?"

"...I… I can't-"

"-Demeter."

A sudden peal of screams interrupted Monsieur Arnold's hesitant admission. I lifted my cup back unto my lips, and sipped leisurely from the contents while Monsieur Arnold convulsed and squealed in the chair opposite me. Returning my cup back onto the table's surface with a light tap, the screams came to an abrupt end.

The drooling man before me could barely wheeze past his own bleeding mouth. Demeter's roots had circumnavigated every vital link in Monsieur Arnold's anatomy, and the Garden of Agony was now seeded in his every nerve cluster, imparting the horrors of the Distortion directly into the physical being of the Crown's guest.

"You can't tell me what you are afraid of? Why not?"

"...They'd kill me-"

"-How? You are within Parfum. Apart from yourself, no other ACE operative resides within the King's Palace."

"T-they did something- Something to my head-"

That statement drew a pause. Monsieur Arnold was being deliberately vague in his answer. He knew the punishment for evasive replies. Why was he toying-?

-I was taken aback by a sudden revelation. Was Monsieur Arnold discretely suggesting telepathically reinforced self-termination? _Performed on an Executive member of ACE's hierarchy?_

Was Monsieur Arnold attempting to answer me subtly, so as to avoid triggering a psionically encoded suicide?

"Exodus, a careful purging if you will. Do not allow yourself to be detected. A single trip could kill Monsieur Arnold before we procure the information that we desire."

"-Don't do that! They have-!" Exodus's discovery interrupted Monsieur Arnold's panicked outburst with my voice.

"-There it is… Oh my… That's quite the elaborate device that ACE installed you with. A second-party trigger? Manually engaged? Ha. That's rather innovative…" I leaned across the table with a puzzled expression overcoming my countenance.

"So a psion is currently monitoring the primary trigger… Presumably from somewhere in Kanto… The distance would explain why your treason has not brought about your execution in spite of this clever design. The psion must be within a certain radius to manually trip the secondary trigger… But if the primary trigger is released… Then the secondary trigger is encoded to release as well... This is impossible to disarm or sabotage without first disposing of the psion in question… Ingenious..." I sat back with a rare full smile lifting my expression.

-This ploy was worthy of respect.

"-And it's no simple self-termination code either… Residual psychokinetic signatures within your carotid artery suggests that termination is ensured regardless of any restraints we fetter you with beforehand. Cerebral hemorrhaging will kill you even if you cannot perform the deed yourself. I applaud ACE's commitment to guaranteeing that their secrets remain secret. No device at the Crown's disposal can undo what has been done to your subconscious mind. This is quite tricky..." I leaned forward, musing over the dilemma with that pleased smile on my face.

This was a challenge. A puzzle of sorts.

-And every Halcyon appreciates a demanding riddle.

"Monsieur Arnold… May I extend a formal apology on behalf of the Crown? We did not realize just how extensively ACE's anticognitive procedures had been administered on your person."

Monsieur Arnold looked at me in terror, as if I were a madman.

It was understandable given the circumstances, but my sincerity was not faked.

"Though in turn, one must consider your unwillingness to provide such relevant material beforehand, so part of the fault must fall on you as well."

Monsieur Arnold could only gape at me. How had an interrogation ended with an apology?

-Well, this is Kalos, and our society is a slave to courtesies...

"I do believe you now, seeing the handiwork for myself, and given that death would prevent you from betraying ACE's secrets… It was quite crass of the Crown to press for such dangerous information. I beg for your forgiveness."

A humble tilt to my neck and head was accompanied by a sweeping gesture.

"-But I cannot go to my King with only this discovery. I must know whether or not Kanto or its agencies conspire against the security of Kalos and the Crown. So answer me vaguely… Does Indigo intend any harm against Kalos?" I requested.

"...Not directly, no. I cannot say more on the matter, please-"

"-But their actions will adversely affect Kalos's national security?" I pressed.

Every Ghosts' presence loomed in the waiting, pressuring the shattered ACE Executive for an answer.

"-Y-yes…" Monsieur Arnold's face clenched, as though he were expecting a sudden cerebral rupture to stay his tongue.

But the question and its answer were vague enough to avoid triggering the psionically enforced execution, just as I had suspected.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Monsieur Arnold. I will be sure to commend your bravery in my report to the King. Exodus, Demeter, take your leave of him." At my command, Exodus leapt from Monsieur Arnold's shadow, and returned to my own, traumatizing the ACE defector with yet another terrifying vision of the denizens from beyond.

But playful Demeter couldn't very well withdraw into the Distortion without twisting Monsieur Arnold for one more agonized squeal.

"Thanatos, I thank you for your guidance. Return to me." The wretched light of my Soul-burner sputtered out, and the Distortion parted for Thanatos's silent retreat.

"I will see that medical attention is sent your way, as well as a new setting procured for your accommodations. I have little doubt that the King will reward you with asylum for your service to the Crown. Enjoy your stay in Parfum, Monsieur Arnold." I bowed as low as a servant, before leaving the shaken ACE executive within his cell.

"What did you learn?" Lord Wikstrom asked upon my return.

"Not much, I'm afraid. Only that Kanto represents a threat to Kalos, though in what manner we will be unable to discern from Monsieur Arnold's testimony. But what little I did learn could serve as the foundations of an investigation. House Halcyon will have to piece the missing information together." I reported. The Iron Lord's face darkened at my account, but I had told him all that I knew, and my reputation for proficiency as the Royal Inquisitor forestalled any further questions pertaining to the matter.

"Is our guest… ill-disposed?" Lord Wikstrom asked me, a slight twitch forming below his left eye.

"He is alive, and mostly intact. I have promised Monsieur Arnold some simple hospitality of Parfum, while we await the King's decision on asylum." I replied. Lord Wikstrom just chuckled.

"Very well, I will oversee his relocation to the Gilded Long Gallery. Perhaps he should board next to your room, Sir Theron?" Lord Wikstrom smiled demeaningly at me.

"Ideally. The Crown will want to keep a close eye on Monsieur Arnold. He has not yet satisfied my curiosity." I answered the Iron Lord with my own smile.

Lord Wikstrom's grin faded.

"Go fashion your account for the King. As soon as you have completed that duty, you are to report directly to the Grand Solar. Princess Diantha has requested your audience." Lord Wikstrom ordered of me.

I faltered momentarily.

"Princess Diantha? An audience? For what reason?" I asked, my perplexity plain upon my face.

Lord Wikstrom rather enjoyed my uncharacteristic expression.

"More than likely, it has something to do with the League. I cannot fathom of any other reason as for why the Princess would call a common Noble into her bedchambers. Now do not keep the Royalty waiting, Sir Theron. You have a duty to perform." Lord Wikstrom straightened himself before me, and my right gauntlet connected with the lower edge of my left pauldron.

Lord Wikstrom reflected the motion, and my mailed fist was extended to my superior in our order's age-old salute.

Lord Wikstrom returned the salute, dismissing me from his presence. I hurried my way back towards my quarters, mentally preparing to compile the interrogation report for my King.

-Though the prospect of seeing Princess Diantha again did distracted me from my dutiful musings...

…

"Princess Diantha? Sir Theron of House Halcyon has heeded your summons." The Solar crier announced my arrival to the gathering within.

Princess Diantha had not invited me to a private audience, to do so would have practically been akin to inviting rumors of hearsay and scandal.

There was a small number of guests within Princess Diantha's private chambers, many of them children considerably younger than myself. Many I recognized as the offspring of other Noble Houses' central families, yet here and there, I detected individuals born to a less than noble brood.

The children of the common cloth were welcome within Princess Diantha's portion of Parfum, and were afforded with all of the honors generally reserved for their greater birthed counterparts.

It was just one example of how Princess Diantha had earned the love of the Kalosian people. Princess Diantha addressed the peasantry with the same respect that she granted to the Nobility.

It was a rare trait for the Royalty, and one that I greatly admired of our Princess, for the same kindness that Princess Diantha had shown to the wretches of the street, was also freely given to the wretches born in House Halcyon.

"Sir Theron!" Princess Diantha rose to greet me. I bowed before my Princess, nares parallel with my knees.

Princess Diantha was now approaching her mid-forties, though any who viewed her majesty and vigor would have sworn her to be half of those years. Age had yet to mar her beauty, and indeed, the subtle lines that were conjured upon her cheeks and at the corners of her eyes when she smiled only served to accentuate her obvious warmth and dignified bearing.

"Rise, Sir Theron. Come now, let me take a good look at the Terror of Halcyon." Whereas others would have used such a title in revulsion and fear, Princess Diantha's musical trill gave the malevolent name a bold and pleasing meaning. To my Princess, the Terror of Halcyon was merely a stage moniker, not a monster in a Knight's heraldry.

"It is good to see you again, Princess Diantha." I rasped when rising from my bow. Princess Diantha was one of only two individuals who made me feel ashamed for my ragged voice. Such a wondrous Lady deserved a far finer tone than the one that emanated from the mouth of a Halcyon.

A pair of gentle hands found my mailed shoulders, and a Princess's soft lips crowned my brow in a tender greeting.

"Look at you…" Princess Diantha laughed, stepping back to gaze teasingly at me.

Look at me indeed.

The Terror of Halcyon wasn't quite so terrible when his normally pale face was flushed with blood.

The Terror of Halcyon became quite comical with such a bashful expression worn plainly upon his visage.

"It is so good to see you again, Theron. I'm pleased that Lord Wikstrom allotted you leave from duty for this gathering. Come, I want you to meet the others." Princess Diantha took my nervous hands in hers, and led me over to the assorted fold.

Princess Diantha was seemingly immune to my Ghosts' Distortion seep. That, or she hid her discomfort even more meritoriously than the Knight-Commander of the Crownguard himself. I suspected that Princess Diantha's status as Kalos's reigning Champion had placed her before the malice of Ghosts before, and her decisive victories against the eidolons had adequately steeled her against their disturbing presence.

-But the same could not be said of the youthful gathering in the Solar compound.

They felt every harbored vice against their existence with the full force exuded by my supernatural servants.

There was nothing that I could do to alleviate their terror. I was the stake that chained four pieces of the Distortion to earth, and no device or command of mine could diminish that dreadful aura.

"Now everyone, this is Sir Theron of House Halcyon. He's known as the Crown's Shadow when he competes within the League. Sir Theron is a very rare kind of Trainer. Can anyone guess what Sir Theron's favorite type of Pokemon is?" Princess Diantha smiled warmly at the fold, doing her best to ease my introduction to their sweating and tortured forms.

Absolute silence answered Princess Diantha's query.

I knew that Princess Diantha was not only trying to educate these children in matters that pertained to the League, but…

...Princess Diantha was also trying to welcome me into a world that I had no place in.

These children didn't deserve to stand in my presence.

That was a punishment reserved for traitors and adversaries to the Crown, not these innocent souls. It seemed as though the terrified hush would persist unbroken for the remainder of my stay, but then-

"Well, _I_ know for a fact that it certainly isn't the Ghost-Types."

My warm face went cold upon hearing that familiar voice. My own breath froze within my throat. I didn't dare to turn around to face the owner of that laugh.

It couldn't be her...

"Well, if it isn't the Gymnase Meister Valerie Le-Faye!" Princess Diantha smiled at me with all of her subtle kindness.

I couldn't believe it.

I hadn't seen my betrothed in nine years…

"Sir Theron? Are you there?"

A shuddering wind nearly choked me when I remembered my noble duty to mine future wife. I quickly turned about and offered a supportive arm to my blind fiancée, taking Valerie from her Florges attendant's hold.

"Lady Valerie…" My voice quivered, and I could feel a watering in my nares and eyes. A beautiful smile greeted me, as Valerie's hands took my arm firmly.

I struggled against the onset of hyperventilation.

I was utterly overwhelmed.

"Theron?" Valerie whispered my name wistfully, her hands tracing their way up from my forearm to my pauldron, touching at last my cheeks, and from there, Valerie began to chart the contours of my face.

Valerie's soft fingers ceased their visual touch when they found the trails left behind by my tears.

"-Oh dear me! I forgot that the two of you were engaged! This must be such an awkward surprise for the both of you! I am positively ashamed of myself!" Princess Diantha feigned her embarrassment, gracing Valerie and myself with a knowing smile.

Of course my kindly Princess had arranged this.

Her generous consideration more than warranted some future performance of valor from my person.

"Fair Lady Valerie, would you honor me with your company at Princess Diantha's soiree?" I found a strength with which to feed wind into my words, and Valerie's gasping smile gave me the sweetest answer that I could ever have hoped for.

"It would be _my_ honor to stand beside the noble Sir Theron." Valerie spoke in a breathy voice, taking my arm tightly by the elbow, and pressing her side up against mine.

And upon the completion of that simple exchange, did I escort my lovely Lady Valerie to a sofa free of other persons.

"Well… I do believe that everyone is now accounted for. I'm afraid that Lord Wikstrom could not attend today, I know that you all so dearly wanted to meet the Crown's Gauntlet-"

Princess Diantha's voice faded away to the rush of blood in my ears. Valerie held herself with dignity beside me, but one arm of hers wound its way around by armored back, and followed the rear of my heraldry's ascent up to my exposed neck.

Valerie's fingers gently caressed the nape between my pauldrons, discreetly avoiding any detection by using the bulk of my mail for cover.

My hand found the other of hers between our persons, and our fingers interwove with an obvious display of affection.

Valerie had not forgotten me.

And I had most certainly not forgotten my beautiful fiancée.

"Lady Valerie? Do you mind explaining the competitive structure of the Kalosian Gymnasiums? I feel as though the oration of a Gymnase Meister would be better suited to the task, rather than the ignorant prattling of a League Champion." Princess Diantha came before me and my Valerie, extending a gentle arm to my fiancée.

"Of course, Princess Diantha, but your claim of ignorance does not fool this court. It would be my pleasure to explain the various Kalosian Gymnase formalities to our prospective Trainers." Valerie reached out slowly, and dear Princess Diantha quickly intercepted Valerie's seeking arm, lifting my betrothed away from my side.

Princess Diantha left me with a mischievous wink, as she guided Valerie into the center of the gathering.

"For those of you who have not heard, Lady Valerie of House Le-Faye recently ascended to the position of Laverre City's Gymnase Meister. Can anyone tell me what manner of Pokemon the Gymnase Meisters of Laverre historically train?" Princess Diantha asked.

The gathering had not yet fully adapted to my presence, but some had begun to garner a strength of fiber from both Valerie's and Princess Diantha's fearless demeanors.

"...Fairy-Types?" One of the commoners spoke out in a meek voice.

Princess Diantha smiled teasingly at the nervous boy.

"Eric, you're from Laverre! Say it loudly and proudly, child!" So did Princess Diantha use her charm to dispel the Terror of Halcyon.

Only after every child had thrown their voices into a repetitive chorus, would Princess Diantha proceed with Valerie's introduction.

I could only stare in wonder at my fiancée.

I couldn't believe how alluring our years apart had made her.

I couldn't believe how natural and regal she appeared, standing there beside Princess Diantha.

I couldn't believe that Valerie stood upon her own two feet by her strength alone…

...I still couldn't believe that cruel fate had yet to part us.

Valerie was so beautiful. Her uncut raven hair fell in an even cascade across her shoulders and back, kept in check by a feathered bow and jeweled tiara. Valerie's petite and becoming figure betrayed no hint of the illness below her skin, and Valerie's extravagant finery was unique in all of Kalos.

Imported from southern Johto, Valerie wore a colorful brocade of expansive furisode, a grandeur not commonly seen within the Kalosian Courts. Yet here and there, Kalosian fashion had altered the garb. A corset pulled my fiancée's waist into a narrow cinch between her bosom and hips, and the sleeves of the kimono had been tailored into fantastical rainbow wings. The normally long skirt of the furisode had been replaced with a delicate tea-hemming, revealing shapely calves tightly wrapped in black hose, before ending in ornamentally carved and painted porcelain clogs with curved toes and elevated heels.

Every inch of my fiancée was covered in decorum, even her face had a tassel and veil of sequins and silk covering her eyes and holding back her bangs.

And all of it was worn to disguise the scars.

Just as I am ashamed of my Distortion seep, so too was Valerie ashamed of her ruined body.

But just as Valerie had accepted me in my haunting, so too had I accepted her in her disfigurement.

Such marks of the flesh only inspired me with a deeper love of Valerie's untainted purity.

"-That is why the Gymnase Meisters continue to compete within the League. We are not satisfied with settling for less. We all dream of one day rising to the position of Champion, or establishing ourselves on the Elite-" A sudden shortness of breath choked Valerie, ending her reiteration on the Gymnasium policies and goals. Covering her mouth in one long sleeve, my fiancée attempted to master herself against her wounded breathing.

Princess Diantha looked at the hacking girl beside her with concern-

-And I was suddenly at Valerie's side, leading my choking fiancée back to the sofa with a gentle arm.

When the two of us were once more positioned comfortably on the sofa, Valerie leaned her breathless head against my armored shoulder, and drew closer to my side. When Valerie's sleeve finally fell away from her wheezing lips, my eyes detected a wet red shade newly cast on the wrist of her furisode.

My mouth tightened when I rested my cheek against her crown, and I fought off the tears again.

My beloved Valerie…

My dying rose…

-I promised you that I would forever stand at your side…

 _...No matter what end…_

"Thank you so much, Valerie. We all appreciate your passionate words. Your bravery is most distinguished among all Gymnase Meisters."

My kindly Princess herself was concealing her pity. Those who knew little of Princess Diantha personally would never notice the sorrow in those blue eyes.

"Sir Theron? If I may be so presumptuous? Could you take the stand and answer any of the questions that our future Champions of Kalos may have?" Princess Diantha's voice was soft in its bold request, but given my Princess's kindness to both me and my betrothed, I could not in good graces refuse Princess Diantha's appeal.

"It would be my honor, Princess Diantha." I reluctantly rose from my future wife, and took my place at the Queen-Regent of Glamour's side.

"Now the Crown's Shadow has not competed within the League for the past three years. His service to the Crown does not allow much leeway for such pleasurable activities. But Theron Halcyon is something of a prodigy in the Kalosian League. He set a record when he undertook the Kalosian Gymnase Challenges. Theron Halcyon secured all eight Kalosian Gymnase Sigils in just two months, _while_ maintaining his fervent duties to the Crownguard. And he has never lost a battle. Not once. Meaning that Theron Halcyon's competition record is even more immaculate than my own." Princess Diantha spoke to the frightened congress with a dramatic voice, but her finishing statement warranted an interjection from me.

"My League record _could_ compare to Princess Diantha's own, but I fear my feeble accolades hold nothing in contest with the splendorous title of Kalos's Reigning Champion."

 _Never stand above the Royalty_ : this is the first lesson taught in all Noble Houses.

"Well... If King Allan would bend his obstinate neck, then perhaps the Crown's Shadow could challenge the Glamorous Champion's record."

The room was filled with a sudden gasp.

I alone stood unmoved.

Princess Diantha had no fear of her brother's wrath.

Only Princess Diantha could publicly humiliate King Allan free of all consequences.

It was just another reason for why the people of Kalos revered her.

It was hardly surprising. King Allan himself idolized his sister. Princess Diantha had, after all, raised Allan Arturia to ruling age, back when she commanded the Throne as Regent in their deceased father's stead.

"Were I only so fortunate, Princess Diantha. But King Allan's word is my law, and my loyalty is his. It is my greatest honor to serve as a Knight of the Crownguard." I announced, as I bowed my humble head to Princess Diantha.

Attempting to appease both of the quarrelling Royal siblings at once was a trick that any member of the King's Court need quickly master.

Both King Allan and his sister could make for deadly political opponents, and it was often wise not to choose a side when King Allan and Princess Diantha regressed into their sibling ways.

"Spoken like a true Knight of the Crownguard. You do my family a noble service, son of Halcyon." Princess Diantha spoke warmly, but I could see the disappointment in her eyes.

I had left my Princess wanting.

The Crown's Shadow was just another pawn of the King. Princess Diantha was silently crestfallen at my predictable proclamation, and my surrender to her brother's service.

And in light of the valor that my Princess's kindness inspired within me, I would rebel against my fate once more.

"Perhaps instead of my poor words, I can offer an example for our audience instead. Would you, fair Princess Diantha, honor me with an exhibition match for this court's sake?"

Another gasp filled the room.

Princess Diantha's eyes widened in awe.

 _-I am not just a hound of Halcyon._

"My dear Sir Theron! It would be my privilege! Come everyone, to the solar courtyard!" Princess Diantha was positively beside herself with my challenge. She was almost dancing with glee for my boldness.

"Victoria! To me! We have a Halcyon to waste!" Princess Diantha called out in a hoarse battle cry to the solar balcony, and an enchanting musical trill answered her. Descending slowly from a golden spiral stairway, regal and bewitching in her appearance, strode my eidolon's opponent.

Victoria, the Handmaiden.

Victoria, the Valkyrie of Kalos.

Victoria, Princess Diantha's Queenly Gardevoir.

"Goodness me! I've shown you my hand! Sir Theron, I'm afraid that my enthusiasm has presented you with an advantage!" Princess Diantha cried out in theatrics, teasing me with her eyes.

Of course she had given me the advantage.

Princess Diantha could crush my eidolons like insects.

Regardless of that fact, I would play my hand to win.

-But not without first atoning for Princess Diantha's multiple generosities.

"Then it is only fair, Princess Diantha, that I bestow the choice of opponent to you and your Victoria." I snapped my fingers, and a sudden peel of children's shrieks heralded my phantoms' appearances.

"I leave the preferred adversary to your predilection." I gave my Princess a sweeping bow, and gestured to the three Ghosts that had arranged themselves behind me.

Princess Diantha's eyes widened once more.

I was answering her theatrics with Knightly honor.

-Of course my Princess was pleased.

"What of your swords, Sir Theron?" Princess Diantha smirked knowingly at me.

"Of course, my Princess. Pariah. Salute." I whispered, as I rose into a straightened posture once more.

The two swords at my hips shook of their own volition.

Princess Diantha's smile widened.

Both rapiers freed themselves of their sheathes, and a dark vapor formed between the pommels. A pair of indigo slit eyes opened on the rain guards of the cup-hilts, and a ragged tassel of black knotted cloth was suddenly animated at either grip.

The swords that offered themselves to Princess Diantha would have been an embarrassment to any Knight in Kalos, had they been mere blades.

Ruined, pitted, tarnished, chipped and jagged. Ancient and cracked.

Worthless weapons in the hands of a man.

But in the hands of the spirits…

 _-A Doublade wields terrifying power._

"...Victoria? You make the choice." Princess Diantha simpered. The white lady behind My Princess raised a green finger to her lips, and contemplated each challenger in kind.

Just as Princess Diantha was a Queen of show, so too did her handmaiden possess a disposition for drama.

After a painfully long deliberation, Victoria motioned to the spectral rapiers at my side.

"A good choice." Princess Diantha grinned dangerously at me.

"Pariah. You have been summoned." My blades answered in a flurry of swings and strokes, their edges moaning through more mediums than mere air; both elegant and horrifying in their capricious dance.

We would give Princess Diantha a good show.

...Perhaps my guardian and I would even claim victory in the Champion's field.

"Then let us all proceed to the courtyard at once! ...Why are you all hiding?!" Princess Diantha sounded surprised upon discovering the quivering youths of her court, all of whom were attempting to conceal themselves from the eyes of my Ghosts.

I cleared my throat.

"Thanatos, Exodus, Demeter. Return to your confluences." The same Distortion rifts that had brought the three to me, now opened to reclaim them.

"Pariah, stand by my side. We strike for victory today." The Doublade responded accordingly, returning once more to my sheathes.

"Lady Valerie?" I turned now to my beaming betrothed, and approached her blind eyes with a lordly bearing.

"Would you favor me with your arm in mine, so that my spirit never falters?" I asked in a voice that few who knew me had ever heard before.

Not even Princess Diantha, who had always found a means to conjure that secret me, had ever heard that tone used in Theron Halcyon's voice.

Valerie practically leapt into my arms.

"Of course I will, Theron…" Her soft voice whispered from my armored breast. I claimed a great breath as my own, before tucking my arm in hers. A shaking hand took mine in a firm hold, and quivering knees stood parallel to the unshaken mine.

Valerie understood the subtle connotation of my request.

"Forever and always." I murmured next to her, speaking softly for her ears alone, and Valerie's firm grip on my hand tightened into a bruising vice.

"Come now, you two doting lovebirds! We have a battle to answer!" Princess Diantha herself was in rare form. All ladiness was cast aside in her brash call to arms. A fire drove the Princess to such extraordinary social contradictions that it was impossible for one to not be ruled by her beguiling charm.

The Queen-Regent of Glamour

The Queen of the People.

The Regent of the League.

-Princess Diantha.

...If only she were King…

…

Princess Diantha took her stand in the courtyard bower. _Eminence,_ Princess Diantha's massive Aurous, rose from his lull in the courtyard's western narthex, and shook the entire Solar with his every heavy step towards his Regent. Eminence's form alternately clouded and glossed as his outer layer sublimated in the early spring sun. Facets of sapphire blue gems ran in a uniform row down either side of the marvelous beast, stretching from Eminence's brow to his coiled tail. Though Eminence's boreal hues and sheer scale was a marvel in itself to behold, the most noticeable and wondrous feature of the Aurorus species are their delicate sails, which fan outwards from the sauropod's long neck. Those sails never failed to capture one's breath in awe with their ever shifting chromatophores and the wavering mirage projected by the sublimating membrane.

The namesake for the Aurorus species.

The neck-sails, which possess a startling similarity to the midnight auroras that play within the winter skies.

Not every living fossil need resemble a spined and craggy saurischia, a gelatinous cephalopod, or an armored frilled euarthropod.

Some living fossils could be beautiful. And _Eminence, the Winter Ballista_ was the most spectacular example thus far unearthed from that permineralized genetic code.

Dipping his colossal gem studded helm into Princess Diantha's arms with an almost canine like behavior, Eminence sought some small exchange of affection between himself and his Regent. Princess Diantha cradled the beast's massive jaw, and bumped her cheek against Eminence's crown jewel. Normally, touching a powerful Ice-Type such as an Aurorus would result in instant frostbite, but Eminence's sublimating carapace insulated Princess Diantha's hands from the burning cold nitrogen flowing through his veins. A sudden and shrill shriek interrupted Princess Diantha and Eminence's kinly iteration, as _Mosaic_ , Princess Diantha's painted Vivillon, intruded upon the formalities for her own selfish want of Princess Diantha's attentions.

Mosaic, or Mosaic the Ninth, was the eighth generation descendant of Princess Diantha's very first Pokemon. One of Princess Diantha's hobbies was the collection and breeding of Vivillons, and her League Champion training skills could turn even a seemingly benign Vivillon into a top tier Championship fighter. Vivillons were infamous for their concentrated sedative dusts, and with the proper instruction, Vivillons could even poison themselves with their own wing scales by quivering their bodies in an agitated dance. Though this technique further decreased a Vivillon's fleeting life expectancy, the autointoxication also served to temporarily stimulate the Vivillon's immunity response, dramatically increasing the insect's constitution, reflexes, and mental faculties.

Princess Diantha's Vivillons have single handedly decimated many a challenger's teams through clever use of their sedative dust, before the Mosaic linage overloaded their biologics with their own airborne psychostimulants, and then proceeded to sweep the opposing roster with psionically convected micro-cyclones.

One might even call it humiliating, being crushed by a common insect, but Mosaic was no common Vivillon.

Mosaic was _Princess Diantha's Vivillon,_ and a Championship riodinidae is an opponent that is best not measured for lacking. The League challengers who were defeated by Mosaic were the very same challengers who prepared for Princess Diantha's obvious threats, and wrote the Vivillon off as fanciful fodder.

Mosaic the Ninth was a pampered Vivillon, but given the fates of her forbearers, it was morally justified to heedlessly indulge such an insect. Mosaic the First through Mosaic the Eighth had all committed suicide under Princess Diantha's orders. Though the Mosaic bloodline's legacy of flawless sweeps were irrefutably some of Princess Diantha's most awe inspiring matches, the autointoxication took its toll on the drama's primary protagonist. The noble Mosaics had all laid down their lives for a single victory.

Such loyal sacrifices were expected of Knights, not insects.

Seeing as such willful doting was considered acceptable in Mosaic's circumstance, and given Princess Diantha's inexhaustible resources and taste for flair, Mosaic was not only unique amongst all Vivillons in her monumental prowess, but in her aesthetic's artificial additions as well.

Mosaic's wings were painted with mehndi pigments in a shockingly graphic portrayal of _Vitiges and the Siege of Rome,_ with the traditionally barbaric Visigoths inaccurately armored in romanticized Knightly heraldries and riding on horseback, while their bannered lances dipped low for the cowering Roman Senators. The portrait was framed in gold leaf, which had been painstakingly applied to the edges of Mosaic's wings, adding further glamour to the otherwise beautiful riodinidae.

And in less than a week's time, all that finery would fall away, and a new masterpiece would be fashioned on Mosaic's wings.

Such was the splendor of _Mosaic IX, Arturia's Painted Typhoon_.

Princess Diantha greeted her Vivillon with a soft smile and a raised arm. Running her downy antenna across Princess Diantha's offered wrist, Mosaic gave her Regent a fond caress, before whimsically flitting away into the bower trees.

While I was familiar with Princess Diantha's Championship roster, and accustomed to their stunning mannerisms, the rest of Princess Diantha's court was not so fortunate.

This was the youthful gathering's first audience with the jeweled mountain, Eminence and the flying mural, Mosaic IX. To say that Princess Diantha's entire court was shocked silent was an understatement.

Some of the younger ones were actually weeping in reverence for these royal titans.

But the one titan that held my gaze was the Handmaiden, Victoria.

Apart from her naturalistic jewelry, newly woven from freshly cut flowers, Victoria seemed almost understated amongst her peers.

But to measure Victoria as an equal to the rest of Princess Diantha's Championship court was to debase the Mythical Valkyrie of Kalos.

 _Victoria Supreme._

Princess Diantha had allied herself to a fay babaylan. Just as my Exodus is the apex of his species, so too did Victoria stand as the mightiest Gardevoir known to the world of men. And just as my amalgamation with Exodus had served to further elevate and secure his claim of superiority…

...A similar synergy had formed between Princess Diantha and Victoria, exponentially reinforcing Victoria's pre-established supremacy.

Like every Noble House of Kalos, ruling House Arturia possessed a collection of Mega-stones, and a single Keystone.

Legendary heirlooms gifted to the Noble Houses before their creator, the mad tyrant AZ, succumbed to his guilt and faded away from history's future.

If Princess Diantha activated her and Victoria's corresponding stones, then an influx of Brink derived primalia would trigger a temporary transmutation in Victoria. The technicalities of such a transformation hadn't been explored or researched by the scientific community since their creation, and all of AZ's subsequent dissertations on the phenomenon had been destroyed by the royalty of Kalos centuries ago.

Mega-Evolution, as the event in question has been dubbed, was a privilege reserved for the Nobility of Kalos.

 _-And it would remain a privilege solely for the Nobility of Kalos._

The Noble Houses would not risk the possibility of science replicating their heirloom prowess for common applications. The Nobility of Kalos had jealously guarded the secret of Mega-Evolution for nigh on a millennia, and it served as much a symbol of our sovereignty as it served to defend our hegemony.

Half a dozen civil wars had been quelled by the instrumental use of Mega-Evolution. Twice as many wars with Unova, Sinnoh, and even Hoenn had only been won with the aid of our private arsenal.

To keep Kalos's greatest weapons in the post-Brink era out of both the peasantries' and our enemies' hands, the Nobility of Kalos protected The Mad Tyrant's gifts even more fervently than our families' ancestral castles, manors, and chateaux. In Kalos's bleak and violent past, the Nobility's zealous devotion to the power of Mega-Evolution had become something of a religious adherence.

One Keystone per Noble House.

And a number of Mega-stones, granted to us according to each Noble House's civil station.

If Princess Diantha was to call upon Victoria's alternate form, then Pariah and myself would have little else but a prayer for a quick and dignified defeat.

But Princess Diantha was an honorable sportsman.

Due to the incredible disadvantage that such a tactic would present us with, the valiant Princess Diantha would of course restrain herself from such an easy victory.

And besides courtesy, The Queen-Regent of Glamour also favored a spectacle.

Princess Diantha wanted to see if The Crown's Shadow still held his edge.

And I was eager to show my Princess that Sir Theron's blades had not dulled in his service to the Crown, but had rather grown sharpened in their constant use. I needed to prove myself. I needed to win.

Back then…

...I didn't fully realize how severely my unwillingness to accept defeat would come to govern my existence.

Back when my chains of ignorance still bound me to the illusion of freedom.

...Back when I was still Sir Theron of House Halcyon…

"Victoria, are you prepared for this dual?" Princess Diantha followed my gaze to her handmaiden. Victoria's serene countenance loosened with a coy smile.

"Pariah, salute our opponent." I whispered as my rapiers rose from their sheathes yet again. Valerie's arms tighten around mine when Pariah's right pommel brushed against her elbow in his ascent.

"Then take to the field, Victoria. Claim victory for House Arturia yet again."

"Pariah, stand ready and await my command."

Victoria positioned herself between Princess Diantha and myself, while the court of spectators moved to the narthex steps. To the children's surprise, the lofty Eminence rose to accompany the court. Should Princess Diantha's and mine battle exceed secure containment, then the mighty wall presented by Eminence would shield the onlookers from any chaotic discharges.

-And given that this was a Championship match being held within the confines of Parfum's Grand Solar courtyard, the likelihood of unrestrained pandemonium was most probable.

"Sir Theron. Shall we begin?" Princess Diantha was positively beaming when my blades whirled to impart my answer. Valerie's hand took mine as Pariah's ragged edges cleaved through the air around us.

"Well then… VICTORIA!" Princess Diantha's playful demeanor shifted so suddenly that it was shocking.

"-CRUSH THAT GHOST!"

Victoria's swaddling flowers were cast off as a surge psychokinetic energy emanated from her delicate being.

Most Championship psions didn't waste their electromagnetic capabilities on theatrics in battle, and Victoria was no exception. The sheer amount of power generated by her faculties could not be biologically contained without severely damaging Victoria's physiology. The excess potential EM buildup was discharged into the Valkyrie's surroundings with a violent psionic pulse.

Victoria was far above her fellow psions.

The Handmaiden was a Goddess among her kind.

My command to Pariah was not uttered so much in a language as it was conveyed in a extension of my will. Pariah's blades tore through the physical realm, and my swords entered the Distortion. Victoria ceased her charge-up at once.

There was a Ghost in the shadows now.

The Valkyrie need be cautious, as Victoria couldn't strike my Ghost while he hid within the Distortion.

"Wait for it, Victoria. And mind your shadow." Princess Diantha immediately shifted character again.

Calm.

Collected.

Watchful.

Patient.

Princess Diantha's eyes were searching my person for a tell, even as those same eyes warded Victoria's blindsides.

Pariah could strike from any shadow, the most obvious of which would be Victoria's own.

Princess Diantha and her white witch would anticipate such a maneuver.

-And then quickly dismiss it.

It was too obvious a tactic for a Championship match. The Kalos Champion and her Valkyrie would instead seek deception from a Halcyon.

So deception is exactly what Pariah and myself offered to the Queen-Regent of Glamour.

-We attacked from the obvious.

Victoria's shadow split open as Pariah's edge cleaved at the white witch's feet.

Even with the surprise tactic of myself playing predictably, Victoria deftly eluded the first stroke, and attempted to psionically seize my blade in place; locking Pariah between the Distortion and the physical realm.

Of course, Victoria managed to hold my blade.

It was exactly what I had anticipated.

Now the white witch was focusing her powers on drawing my sword out from the nightmare.

So intent was she on dragging Pariah from the Distortion, that Victoria failed to notice the _second_ blade rising from the long shadows of the bower.

"VICTORIA! BEHIND YOU!"

A gasp rose from the young spectators, and Valerie's breath ceased. She couldn't see Pariah's lunge, but my betrothed could feel the palpable tension generated by this conflict.

Victoria released the first blade at once, and teleported to safety before Pariah's projectile edge could sever her spine.

Victoria reappeared mere meters before me, her back facing myself and Valerie. Pariah's first blade rose to hover beside the second, joining hilts with a smoky chain, and for a moment, my unmoved eyes met Princess Diantha's pleased gaze.

Victoria turned to look at me, and gingerly shifted a hand to her lower back. Holding her green fingertips aloft for the court to see, Victoria revealed that my ploy was not altogether unsuccessful.

Blood clung to Victoria's green digits, drawn from a shallow wound on the inner curve of the Handmaiden's spine.

"Well done, Sir Theron. Well done indeed." Princess Diantha smiled at me, as Victoria pressed her stained fingertips into her mouth, and daintily sampled her own blood.

"But I think that I can smell a storm approaching…" Princess Diantha's smile grew wider.

-No.

That wasn't the scent of a storm in the clear and sunny skies.

-That was the odor of ozone, as Victoria utilized her psionics to generate an electrical imbalance between herself and my twin blades.

Pariah tore open a new rift, but this one was not for hiding within.

-It was for cover.

A bolt of lightning deafened the court in a blinding _crack_ , and when the photon induced daze released our optical senses, Victoria still stood before me. The Handmaiden's green hair was now aloft and wild with the electrical charge that her body still conducted.

And an unmarred Pariah shifted from behind a wailing black tear in reality, as if to mock the Valkyrie for her failure.

Victoria's lightning bolt had dissipated before the Distortion's scream.

I was utilizing the electromagnetic pulses of the Distortion rift's event horizon to redirect Victoria's electrical current.

I witnessed Princess Diantha gnashing her teeth in frustration, even as her eyes flared with a wild passion.

My expressionless countenance remained unchanged.

This was proving to be a true challenge for the Princess and her Knight.

I may not have been revealing the strain, but the reflexive tactics were exacting a toll on my faculties. Victoria's attacks were so sudden and powerful that I was allotted split seconds to formulate a defense for my Pariah.

But defending was all that I could do for now.

Through my clever use of the Distortion rifts, Pariah was able to elude Victoria's psionic and electrical attacks. But as for assuming the offensive…

It was still too early to commit to _that_ effort.

Once I revealed _that_ hand, Victoria's teleportation could easily thwart my trump card.

I needed Victoria to exhaust a significant portion of her Bio-EM charges before I even dared to consider _that_ move.

"Victoria, we are simply not paying the young Knight the respect that he deserves. No more toying about. Break his Ghost." Princess Diantha spoke in that charming candor, and Victoria shot me a wicked smile.

"Destroy Pariah."

The blinding and deafening bolts of lightning were conjured again, one quarrel striking after another. Stones were rising into the air, and converging onto my frantically swinging blades. Pariah's strokes met the lightning with Distortion screams, and his whirling parries deflected the psionically hurled stones. My Ghost could not tire, but this siege was ceaseless and nigh overwhelming.

In time, Victoria would find a flaw in Pariah's defenses.

And once that flaw was discovered, Victoria's certain exploitation would bring me ruin.

I needed a new defense.

But Victoria revealed to me that there was no such defense against the Valkyrie of Kalos.

 _A third avenue of attack besieged my Pariah._

-And this method was not one that I had priorly expected.

It took me a moment to realize Victoria's design. The effects were not immediately apparent. But when Victoria's capabilities were revealed…

-The greatest asset at my disposal was exposed as a fatal liability.

 _Victoria was psionically destabilizing Pariah's Distortion rift._

As a Shadow of House Halcyon, I am rather familiar with the hyperspace properties of Distortion rifts.

All humility aside, I am actually considered an expert in such matters, even amongst my own kin.

So when a condensed portion of Pariah's Distortion rift broke away from the event horizon, my educated mind immediately realized the risk of leaving Pariah's Distortion rift open.

 _-Victoria could use my own devices to banish my spirits into the Distortion and seal them away._

A rapid judgement of the scenario left me with mere seconds to make one of two risky decisions.

One, I could seal the Distortion rift, and expose Pariah to Victoria's electrical attacks.

Two, I could have Pariah retreat into the Distortion in hopes that my Ghost could escape before Victoria reconfigured the rift to her purposes-

-Or option three. Something unpredictable could occur.

Pariah sealed the compromised Distortion rift with one blade, and opened a new Distortion rift with the other.

The fracturing Distortion rift harmlessly dissipated, and the siege remained in contest.

Pariah's blades had exchanged duties seamlessly. The edge that had warded against the lightning now fended off the stones.

I was completely taken aback.

 _-I hadn't given Pariah an order!_

My bewildered expression even caught Princess Diantha off guard, compounding her own shock regarding Pariah's skillful exchange.

I didn't even know how my Ghost had managed to perform such a flawless adaption.

"...Victoria. Cease." Princess Diantha was looking at me pensively.

The Valkyrie paused her onslaught, before turning to me with a curious look in her eye.

Our battle was placed on hold.

"Sir Theron? How did you do that?" Princess Diantha asked in a monotone. Princess Diantha's question reflected my sudden intuition.

"...That's not supposed to be possible…" I murmured, looking to my own blades with suspicion.

-Was that an illusion?

"...I could have sworn that a Doublade's swords were supposed to act separately in their hyperspace functions. One sword can open a rift. The other sword can seal a rift. But neither blade can do both." Princess Diantha fixed me with a cold eye.

"You are correct, Princess Diantha. A Doublade's swords have distinctly opposed interdimensional polarities… That cannot have just happened…"

I was utterly mystified.

"...Is Pariah the only Ghost on the field, Sir Theron? Or is Exodus undermining League policies from the shadows?" Princess Diantha asked in an icy tone.

 _-My Princess thought that I was cheating?_

"No, I swear. Victoria… did you detect any ignoble interventions from my behalf?" I offered myself to the Handmaiden's scrutiny, and the white witch looked to her Regent for allowance.

But my Princess was above such trivial machinations.

Similar to her brother King Arturia, Princess Diantha shared the Royalty's implicit trust in the words of Sir Theron of House Halcyon.

"...I do believe you, Sir Theron. There is no need to violate your mind." Princess Diantha's attentions shifted from me to my Ghost.

"...So how did it happen?"

I swallowed.

I had a theory, but first-

"Pariah, open two rifts." I commanded, vocalizing my intent for our audience's sake.

My blades did nothing.

"Open a single rift."

Pariah's primary rapier tore open the Distortion.

"Good. Now open a rift with the other blade."

Pariah did nothing.

"Unless our eyes were deceived, Pariah maintained two rifts for a split second, before sealing one with the same blade that opened it. Any thoughts on how that could possible, Sir Theron?" Princess Diantha asked me. I turned once more to Victoria.

"What property did Victoria exploit to destabilize the Distortion rift? Only Ghosts and Interlopers possess the capability to incite hyperspace anomalies. If Victoria is pioneering psionic Distortion manipulation-"

"You think that our little psionic exploration into the field of Distortion supersymmetry might have some unforeseen variables?" Princess Diantha asked, her own tone growing excited.

"It must have been… -I believe that you and Victoria may have actually stumbled upon an inconsistency with Newcomb's second law… Or… By altering the Distortion rift's supersymmetry, which could only be manipulated through hyperspace polarization…" My fingers snapped as an explanation occurred to me, its portents supported by the established quantum diction.

"-Victoria also reversed the polarity of Pariah's blades, effectively switching the catalysts of the hyperspace latch-key dynamic… That's it! Pariah must have sealed the destabilized rift and opened the new rift in a reflexive response to the altered polarities of his blades!" I looked over towards Princess Diantha with a hint of triumph brightening my face.

My Princess began to laugh.

"You could be onto something, Sir Theron! Except-"

Princess Diantha fixed me with an amused eye.

" _-I lied._ Victoria didn't psionically alter the Distortion rift's supersymmetry to achieve that little ploy. I wouldn't betray my training secrets so readily, and neither would you, _Sir Theron._ " Princess Diantha chuckled.

I could stare at my laughing Princess in disbelief.

 _-She thought that this was all just theatrical banter?_

"You are truly the prodigy that I marked you for! However did you manage to teach Pariah such a trick? No, no, don't tell me! I must discern the means on my own!" Princess Diantha bent at the knees for all of her laughter, allocating the time I required to acclimate myself in this unusual development.

"...Of course, Princess Diantha. Forgive me for my tasteless musings." I collected myself, and set the the unanswered predicament aside for later contemplation.

Princess Diantha found her voice, though she still struggled to restrain the mirth.

"Forgive _me_ , Sir Theron. I couldn't resist. You are positively adorable when you're perplexed!"

That was a new insinuation used in correlation to my persona. No one had ever referred to me as adorable before. No one had ever found me so amusing.

Valerie's arm tightened around mine, and her laughter followed Princess Diantha's outburst of mirth.

"My _adorable_ Sir Theron…" Valerie teased, bringing a fresh shade of red to my pallor.

Valerie's warm and playful spirit had endured both her mutilation and the emotional trauma that followed her recovery. And apparently, our time apart hadn't taxed Valerie's mischievous nature either.

"Dear me, and we even have an _audience._ " Princess Diantha gestured to the nervous youths clustered beneath the jeweled Eminence.

"Lady Valerie, for the sake of our flustered Sir Theron, let us draw this vexing sport to a close." Princess Diantha mastered herself against the mirth, and Valerie conquered her giggles.

I however, was struggling to repress the unfamiliar complexion that was currently warming my face.

"Sir Theron, do you require a moment?" Princess Diantha asked, that teasing smile glowing in her eyes as well as upon the arches of her cheeks.

I cleared my throat. It was all that I could utter in reply. Humility held my tongue in a knot.

-Now even Victoria was laughing at me.

"...Let us… Proceed with the battle." I rasped when words could at last be mustered from my throat.

"Very well, my young Knight. I hope that you have more surprises in store for both myself and Victoria…" Princess Diantha's smile shifted, and a haughty look hardened her eyes.

"Pariah-"

"Victoria-"

"-Do not fail me."

"-For House Arturia."

Pariah whirled about, cleaving a crescent seam above his corporeal form with a deft stroke. Once more, the voices of the Distortion came forth, just as the air crackled with electricity and a fresh volley of stones lifted around Victoria.

Victoria began her siege anew, as Pariah sank within the shadows yet again.

"Victoria! Stand ready!"

It was still too early.

But if this design of mine failed…

Then it was already too late.

My eyes met Princess Diantha's in a cold challenge.

She wanted to see what I had taught mine guardian?

"Pariah. Initiate."

I only spoke my command aloud for effect.

For a prayer of success, this premature tactic would require every asset of mine exploited.

Even the small surprise of my spoken command.

Victoria's eyes widened.

 _Her psionic perception sensed what was mounting between our realm and the Distortion._

"Victoria-?"

"-NOW PARIAH!"

I never shouted, and the harsh sound of Sir Theron's howl stunned even Princess Diantha.

Beside me, Valerie's breath caught within her throat.

 _Now we could all feel it._

This seemingly unmarked world was being carved into a Distortion sub-cell.

Victoria tensed.

The shocking revelation waylaid the white witch's escape.

A smile lifted the left corner of my mouth.

Flawless.

We were all trapped.

 _-Even the Valkyrie of Kalos._

"You missed your chance, my Princess." My cruel voice uttered forth. Princess Diantha stiffened as the world began to darken all around us.

Distortion sub-cell immersion is not a recorded capability of Doublades. They simply do not possess the Distortion affinity required to submerge a pocket of our existence into an outer shell of a realm devoid of space or time. But I wasn't utilizing Pariah's lackluster Distortion affinity to sink our physical realm into the immaterial plane.

I had conceived of an alternate means to achieve such a spectacular end.

The edges of a Doublade are unique among all apparitions in their hyperspace functions. Such eidolon instruments possess a pair of distinctly opposed interdimensional polarities.

One blade to open the Distortion.

One blade to seal the resulting rift.

Unlike every other spirit known, Doublades essentially 'cut and weave' their way into and out of the Distortion.

Most wraiths breach the string barrier through dimensional refraction brought about by alternating the mass charges of the single-dimension particles intrinsic to the foundations of our mundane realm. By generating gravitational discrepancies between these single-dimension particles, the spirits effectively 'part the strings' that comprise quantum space. By redirecting the string's supersymmetry core axis into the hollow beyond time and space via gravitationally collapsing an inertly charged boson cloud, the boundary between matter and decay gives way to the infinite nothing that lies beneath quantum space.

We know this nothing as the Distortion.

And as the Ghosts have long since confirmed…

...This anti-space is not completely void of existence.

Even within the Distortion, some form of intangible materiel can persist.

And thanks to my inspired use of Pariah's opposingly polarized hyperspace blades to 'cut and weave' an inertly charged boson cloud…

Princess Diantha, Valerie, Victoria, myself, and indeed: the entire court present within the Grand Solar's courtyard, were now subjects of the immaterial plane.

This was far from a full scaled sub-cell immersion however.

Pariah's improvisation left ragged tears in the fabric of quantum space.

In short, rather than a 'pocket' of the physical realm descending into the Distortion…

...Pariah had instead fashioned a 'net' with which to catch the divided portions of the physical realm.

Unlike conventional Distortion sub-cells, escape from this flawed Distortion sub-cell was entirely possible.

By simply crossing the physical parameters of Pariah's 'net,' even a child could free themselves from this fledgling hell with ease.

But neither Princess Diantha or her Victoria knew this.

They were far too overcome by Pariah's apparent immunity to his species's limitations.

And as far as mundane perception is concerned…

Dark is dark.

Night is night.

If it looks and feels like a perfect Distortion sub-cell…

...Then it must be a perfect Distortion sub-cell.

And this total darkness was most certainly reminiscent of a sojourn to the beyond.

"Forfeit, my Princess. It is futile to contest a spirit within their own realm." My sly voice reverberated throughout the fractured matter and dilated time.

It could be eons before my shattered words reached the ears of Valerie, who even in a realm devoid of sequential perception, still stood frozen beside me.

And yet, we would never feel the passage of that irrelevant timeframe.

This absolute nothing was sheer madness to those of us alien to its paradoxical principles.

An overlapping laugh answered my smug ultimatum.

I knew better than to seek the origins of that outcry of mirth in this disjointed realm.

But I was curious as to my Princess's confidence all the same.

"You are brilliant, Sir Theron! I have so grossly underestimated your genius! You are a pioneer among imitators! Fresh innovation drawn from a stagnant pool of erudition! But you should know better then to request surrender from a Champion..."

A light formed within the darkness, and my startled eyes beheld Victoria as its source.

-No.

That couldn't be possible…

Princess Diantha stepped from behind the Valkyrie of Kalos, and a wavering monochromatic image of the Grand Solar's courtyard flickered into two dimensional form within the light.

"...Just as you are a genius in your craft, Sir Theron of Noble House Halcyon…"

Victoria's wicked smile fell upon me with a dreadful portent.

My heart fell as the realization sank in.

"...So too is Princess Diantha of Ruling House Arturia a genius in her art…" Princess Diantha's voice sounded no less smug than my own previous intonation.

 _-Victoria was psionically maintaining a portion of quantum space by her mental fortitude alone!_

"...It is I who grossly underestimated my Champion, Princess Diantha…" My voice grew choked.

My greatest weapon was compromised by a stipulation that I could never have foreseen.

 _-Just how much hyperspace manipulation could Victoria psionically enact?_

"Well then…" I swallowed my dry throat. Princess Diantha folded her arms with a pleased expression upon her relaxed visage.

"...On with my final trick. Pariah. Make use of what you can."

The darkness filled with a cacophony of ringing blades.

Victoria and Princess Diantha whirled about.

There were thousand of them rising from the iron dark.

Millions.

Billions.

 _Infinite_.

 _Pariahs_.

The fractured timescape of this imperfect sub-cell imparted an unusual asset to my guardian.

The Ghosts do not abide by the laws of time and space.

This storm of Doublades was not some illusion cast by my spirit to unnerve our foes.

Every one of them was real.

Tangible.

Jagged.

Tarnished.

Death.

Pariah existed in every shard of broken time. A Doublade emerged from each piece of dismembered space.

The spatial dynamics of this device is every bit as easy to quantify as it is to articulate a counter statement to a timeless and facetious phrase.

" _One cannot be within two places at once."_

Well-

-Within this impossible hell…

 _...My Pariah could be everywhere at once._

"...Ingenious…" Princess Diantha audibly whispered in wonder.

Victoria wasted not one psionically retained second of time.

A wavering barrier of alternating electromagnetic pulses surrounded the Valkyrie and her Regent as an entire plane of swords descended upon the white witch's condensed reality, and the following crash born from of a sea of striking blades echoed endlessly within the Distortion's wake.

But even though that jarring dissonance was deafening and overwhelming to our displaced perception, it revealed the failure of Pariah's attack.

There would be no crash if Pariah's blades had rent flesh.

And now I beheld Victoria's counter.

Pariah warped and twisted into blackened slag across the numerous fractured timescapes.

Earlier timescapes of Pariah were spared the psion's retaliation.

But every timescape following the origin of Pariah's fall began to collapse in alternating states of decay.

Countless eidolon clones were wasted in the blink of an eye.

Just as a single Pariah could exist in of multitude of spatial divisions at once…

...So too could a single Pariah fail in a multitude of spatial divisions at once.

The scrapped steel and twinkling dust cleared, and there stood a legend, unscathed and unshaken at death's very core.

The Valkyrie of Kalos, with her smiling Regent at her side.

 _-Victoria Supreme._

...It was almost impossible for me to conceive of a greater power yet untapped in this confrontation.

But neither Princess Diantha or Victoria had deemed it necessary to activate their relics.

This incontestable fay babaylan had yet to reveal her true majesty.

"Victoria, bring us back home." Princess Diantha smiled apologetically at me.

Victoria screamed as she summoned a focus for her psionic disciplines, and the two-dimensional monochromatic image of the Grand Solar's courtyard began to take upon corporeal form in three-dimensional perception.

 _Victoria could pull a Distortion sub-cell apart?!_

This epiphany revealed a dire portent.

My defeat was certain.

 _-But I would not submit to futility just yet._

"PARIAH! SLAY VICTORIA!"

My desperate roar was answered by a renewal of Pariah's immeasurable numbers.

Every converging particle of the previously shattered timescape birthed another Doublade, and my sea of swords moved in an endless chain of spectral edges as Pariah concentrated his attack upon a single section of Victoria's barrier.

It was not too late to secure victory.

We only had to breach-

"VICTORIA! CRUSH THAT FLY!"

And just as my Princess commanded…

...The boundless ribbon of Doublades compacted and withered away as their corporeal substances were psychokinetically divided at the molecular level.

A torrential river of dust and twisted metal broke against Victoria's wavering barrier-

-Before the realm of space and time enveloped Princess Diantha's imprisoned court with warm solar light and a thick and pleasant atmosphere.

Free of the Distortion, beautiful earth graced us with all the splendor of life's awareness.

But among the the emancipated fold, I alone grieved the return of reality.

 _I had lost-_

 _I…_

 _Theron Halcyon…_

 _...Had finally lost._

"A splendid battle, my dear Sir Theron. You are truly a prodigy among all who aspire to the Champion's throne." Princess Diantha sighed with a relieved shudder, now that the haunting dark of the Distortion had faded away. Victoria staggered against her Regent's shoulder.

The white witch was utterly spent.

Princess Diantha cradled her Gardevoir's delicate body against her own, and kissed Victoria's green crown with her tender lips.

"Well done, Theron. You have proven yourself a worthy adversary." Victoria's sealed eyelids fluttered, and her red eyes opened to hold me in a fond gaze. That same kind look was worn by the Regent who pressed her cheek against the white witch's brow.

But for all their gentle condolences, I was cold to every one of their intentions.

 _I had lost…_

"You… You were m-magnificent, T-Theron…"

A shaken voice shuddered from my shoulder, and a pang of guilt stabbed itself into my breast.

My ailing fiancée…

I had dragged Valerie into a Distortion sub-cell for my own selfish want of a victory…

...I might as well have set Demeter lose upon my beloved betrothed.

As if to capitalize on my shame, the sounds of frantic tears and panicked wails rose forth from beyond Eminence's crystalline mass.

 _-My blind ambition had subjugated the children as well..._

"Valerie- I'm- I..." Burning shame now choked me, compounded by the weight of my failure.

Valerie's arm tightened on mine.

"I'm fine, Sir Theron. I'm just… Just a little bit shaken." Valerie's feeble voice did nothing to convince me of her claim. A sickness filled me for my insensitive actions, yet mine arms pulled Valerie even closer to my breast all the same.

"Valerie, I didn't mean- I'm not accustomed-"

How foolish I sounded.

 _-I'm not accustomed to caring?_

Were those the terrible and weak words that I had deigned to utter to mine future wife?

"Theron, be at ease. They will all be cared for. No spectator of this confrontation need suffer the aftereffects of the nightmare. I give you my word-"

Princess Diantha paused mid sentence and gasped.

My wet eyes lifted from Valerie's raven crown, and my vision beheld an accursed miracle.

A chanting spatial wound had opened within the Grand Solar's courtyard.

-How could it be?

I'd watched him wither across an infinite swath…

...How?

 _-How could my guardian still stand?_

"P-Pariah?"

There he was, sealing the Distortion rift that he had newly risen from.

My guardian. Positioned between me, and Princess Diantha.

A pair of spectral indigo eyes faced me.

-My twin blades awaited my command.

"He was only just banished! He couldn't have reconstituted a physical form already!" Princess Diantha cried out.

If mine ears were not deceived, there was a note of fear in the Champion's voice.

"Does Pariah still stand?" Valerie gasped from my breastplate.

It was then that something happened to me.

Some heedless abandon seized me, and warped my countenance into an uncharacteristic outburst.

This was something that I had previously only ever displayed under faux circumstances.

There was something borne from mine mouth, and that hideous and unused sound vexed every ear that stood in attendance.

-Laughter.

Theron Virgil Halcyon only ever laughed to mock, distract, and demoralize.

Never to celebrate his disbelief or joy.

I was laughing in euphoria.

 _-Pariah yet stood!_

"Pariah… My blades… My dear Pariah!" I was possessed with a peculiar fondness for my cancerous wraith. A madness overcame me, and I struggled against the irrational urge to kiss the first Ghost to have laid a claim upon my life.

"Princess Diantha! Send forth your Valkyrie! We have not yet met the conclusion of this battle!"

That was my voice.

It was a voice that I had never heard before.

It sounded…

 _...Joyous?_

Princess Diantha's wide eyes and gaping mouth rejected this impossible scene.

Pariah had fallen to Victoria within the collapsing Distortion sub-cell.

It had taken every ounce of Victoria's considerable strength to tear that abominable realm asunder while simultaneously destroying the repulsive wraith that had created it.

-And yet here he stood.

My Pariah.

Unmarred.

Unbroken.

Unbanished.

Standing at the ready. Prepared to finish the battle whose victory we had so feverishly set ourselves upon.

"Victoria?" Princess Diantha looked down at her feeble Gardevoir with trepidation.

The red eyes of Victoria slammed tightly shut.

Then with an enraged display of dignity, the Valkyrie of Kalos pushed her nurturing Regent roughly aside.

A staggering Victoria marched into the center of the field, and glared down at the impetuous Ghost that refuse to fall to her.

"Victoria?" Princess Diantha's wounded voice carried within it a trace of worry.

Victoria's trembling green fists tightened.

I saw my Princess swallow.

This battle had only just begun.

 _And to Pariah and I at last, fell the advantage._

Victoria was footsteps away from her limit.

And miraculous Pariah had not yet revealed his.

 _-Victory could still be ours!_

"PARIAH-!"

"VICTORIA-!"

That was as far as my Princess or I came to vocalizing our intentions.

A new voice rang across the Grand Solar's courtyard.

A voice that both Princess Diantha and I recognized within an instant.

"CEASE THIS MADNESS AT ONCE! WE COMMAND IT!"

 _-The King of Kalos._

A furious King Arturia strode across the Grand Solar's courtyard with all twenty-six of my fellow Crownguard Knights in tow. The Knight-Commander, Lord Gregory Wikstrom maintained a steady march directly behind the King's right shoulder.

"Diantha! For the love of the Crown! We were trying to sleep!" King Arturia roared.

My liege certainly seemed garbed for such a peaceful pastime.

"Good evening, King Arturia. I apologize for causing you any _slight_ discomfort in your attempt at leisure. Father knows how you hate waking for any purpose other than to dine." Princess Diantha's voice was no less condescending than her words.

"A bleeding League match?! In our palace!? How dare you!" King Arturia's nightgown swaddled figure passed me and my betrothed without even a glance.

"Oh yes, how dare I utilize _our family's_ palace for my own purposes." Princess Diantha growled at her younger brother. A half circle of Knights formed around the battlefield, placing Princess Diantha, King Arturia, Lord Wikstrom, Valerie, Victoria, Pariah, and myself upon the center of the Royal drama's stage.

"Oh hullo, Lord Wikstrom! It is so good to see that you could attend my little party! Even if your arrival is somewhat belated, the effort to satisfy your Champion's humble request has been duly noted." Princess Diantha almost sounded friendly when she directed her ire unto the Iron Lord.

"My apologizes, Princess Diantha. Had I the time, I would have been honored to attend your soiree. But the King had need of my services in the Ellis archipelago deliberations. I'm afraid that House Wikstrom's military input in such matters must take precedence over entertaining your guests." Lord Wikstrom replied with a humble bow.

"Yes, we requested the service of House Wikstrom in resolving Unova's little incursion into Kalos's and Sinnoh's shared waters. We also requested _your_ appearance in our Court-" King Arturia began, but his sister wouldn't let him finish.

"-I'm not some puppet of yours, _Allan._ You wouldn't pay any credence to _my_ opinion on the matter anyways! You just wanted me to address the Court with your controversial words for you again!" Princess Diantha rounded on her sibling with a spitting fury.

"SILENCE! Do not speak to your King with such venom!" King Arturia roared over his sister's accusation.

"I WILL SPEAK TO MY STUPID BROTHER IN ANY WAY THAT I SEE FIT! REGARDLESS OF THE CROWN UPON HIS HEAD!" Princess Diantha's voice sounded even louder than her brother's, and King Arturia stepped back before her spittle.

"Diantha, stop this! You are making a scene of yourself!" King Arturia hissed, but his sister only laughed in reply.

"I'm making a scene?! At least I saw fit to adequately garb myself _before_ addressing my guests!" Princess Diantha gestured towards Eminence, who raised his blue and ivory bulk upon all four legs, and revealed the minor court of wide-eyed and traumatized children that cowered beneath the sauropod's belly.

"Damn your eyes, Diantha…" King Arturia shook with rage. Lord Wikstrom made a quick gesture, and a troop of Knights broke formation to guide the weeping youths out of the Grand Solar's courtyard.

"Bring them to the Red Galley! Ensure that my guests are afforded every luxury befitting a King!" Princess Diantha hollered after the retreating Knights.

"You heard the Princess! See to it that the children are taken care of!" Lord Wikstrom barked to his inferior Knights.

"Sir Theron!"

My arm left its protective hold on Valerie, and Knightly discipline brought my form into a stiff and straightened posture.

"Yes, your Majesty?" Sir Theron answered his King.

King Arturia glared at me, though he struggled to find any error with my current bearing.

"Leave him be, Allan. I requested an exhibition match from Sir Theron with which to entertain my guests. The noble Knight was acting under my orders." Princess Diantha lied to her brother's face in order to draw his fury from me and onto her.

-I positively adored Princess Diantha at that moment.

"Our Crownguard is not at your disposal to serve as League playthings, Diantha!" King Arturia roared at his sister.

"For the love of God, Allan! It was a Pokemon Battle! Not a fucking war!" Princess Diantha pushed past King Arturia to collect her gasping Victoria. Holding the exhausted Gardevoir protectively, Princess Diantha attempted to hide her tears in Victoria's green crown.

Only I could see my Princess weep, and pity drove me forth to defend her.

"Your Majesty, I beg of you. Please, spare the Princess of your wrath. I take full responsibility for any displeasure my challenge suffered upon the King." I knelt between Princess Diantha and King Arturia, inclining my neck in a display of prostration.

"Sir Theron-?!"

"It was I and my Pariah who created the disturbance that roused your excellency from his needed sleep. I should have restrained myself against such outrageous exhibits. I have failed you, my King." I cut Princess Diantha startled outcry off before she could draw the King's attention away from this lowly Knight.

King Arturia was breathing heavily through his nostrils when both he and Lord Wikstrom came to stand over me.

"No, Sir Theron. You have not failed your King. We understand how… The Princess's conventions can beguile those misfortunate enough to partake roles within them. But be that as it may, _Halcyon,_ you still need remember your place _._ You are our Knight. You belong to your King first, and no others second." King Arturia growled over me.

"Rise, Sir Theron. Do not disgrace the ceinture of the Crownguard by tainting it with dirt." Lord Wikstrom curtly order after a long silence had been observed.

I rose from my palms and knees, and faced the Knight-Commander.

"Fall in with your fellow Knights. We will discuss the punishment for your conduct later, Sir Theron." Lord Wikstrom commanded.

I pivoted on a heel, and made to fulfill my assigned duty.

"Hold, Sir Theron."

I froze stiff.

Princess Diantha's cold voice drew every other eye onto her person.

"Delay the Knight-Commander's order. Take Lady Valerie of House Le-Faye out on a tour of Parfum's gardens. I expect both of your companies at my Solar by six-o'clock this evening, so as to dine with me. Do not tarry." Princess Diantha ordered.

I couldn't move.

Princess Diantha had the authority to rescind Lord Wikstrom's command, but my King had not released me from my duty-

"Ensure that my guest leaves Parfum Palace with a more pleasant memory than that of her bedraggled King and his quarreling sister." Princess Diantha commanded.

I swallowed hard.

"Sir Theron, you are to return to your post among the Crownguard. Princess Diantha's guest will have to find her own way-" King Allan began.

"GO TO HELL, ALLAN! THE GIRL IS BLIND, YOU SELFISH BRAT!" Princess Diantha's full fury returned in a volcanic fit of spit and obscenities.

"YOU RUIN EVERYTHING THAT I CARE ABOUT! YOU ARE CONSTANTLY STEPPING ON MY FRIENDS! TAKE YOUR FUCKING CROWN AND WIPE YOUR FUCKING ARSE WITH IT!" Princess Diantha was standing on her brother's toes, her ragged breaths baking my King's sweating brow. King Arturia shrank beneath his sister's wrath, gaping at the quivering Princess who was barely restraining herself from strangling her younger brother.

I could hardly breathe past the palatable dread of this escalating Royal exchange.

-I could only wait for an order to act.

In the end, the order came neither from King Arturia or Princess Diantha. Instead, Lord Wikstrom parted the siblings with his bold and steady decree.

"Sir Theron, guide the fair Lady Valerie on a tour of Parfum's gardens. You are to report to the Grand Solar's dining hall with the Lady of House Le-Faye at six-o'clock tonight. When your evening meal has concluded, you are to return to your quarters immediately, and carry out a thorough purging of Parfum's whispers with your revenants. You have your orders, Knight. You are dismissed."

The courageous Lord Wikstrom was not entirely devoid of mercy.

I quickly returned to my fiancée's side, and took her shaking arm in a firm hold, before I escorted my beloved Valerie away from the Royal scene. Pariah faded away into the Distortion with an unspoken command of my own, while the lovely Lady Valerie alongside the haunted Sir Theron departed the Grand Solar courtyard with all due haste.

"Once again, Allan, you shame our family with your childish outbursts-"

The great gate of the narthex hall sealed behind both myself and Valerie, cutting Princess Diantha's recrimination short.

We proceed through the gilded halls of Parfum in absolute silence.

It was only when we entered Parfum's immaculate gardens that I realized…

...I was alone with my future wife.

For the first time in our lives…

 _It was just Valerie and I._

…

"...So his Sir Theron of House Halcyon serves the Crown in the dual capacities of the Royal Inquisitor and as a Knight of the Noble Order of the Crownguard?" Valerie asked softly when the silence and scents of the gardens rose to embrace our senses.

"...Valerie…"

My voice still carried with it an apology; a plea for forgiveness, and an admission of shame.

But mine beloved fiancée would hear none of it.

"Theron, please. It has been years since I spoke with you last. Fear not for me. I have walked the Distortion's planes before, and I am none the worse for your brilliant display." Valerie pulled herself all the more tightly against me, and I struggled against the urge to pull her into my arms.

The gardens were not entirely empty, and any unseemly conduct perpetrated by mine person would reflect poorly upon both House Halcyon and the Crownguard.

Cherishing my future wife, be it in privacy or in public, would cause no end of scandal for both mine Knightly Order and our respective Noble Houses.

"Did you… Did you receive my letters?" I asked softly.

Valerie stopped walking.

"Which letters, Sir Theron? Your last written words to me arrived four years ago." Valerie asked.

I swallowed.

I had regularly written to my fiancée since we had been parted last, and though Valerie had never replied, I had always assumed that her silence pertained to either mine future wife's condition or some obligation of her Noble station.

"Just… Just a week ago I wrote to you, as I did the preceding week. I…" I swallowed again, and straightened myself against the obvious grief.

"...You sent word?" Valerie asked, her own voice growing faint.

"Twice every month... Ever since…" I whispered hoarsely.

 _-Someone had been intercepting my letters to Valerie…_

"They were… rarely touching, but I… I wanted you to know…" I closed my eyes tightly as an oppressive brooding overcame my demeanor. Who would delay mine letters to Valerie?

House Halcyon?

House Le-Faye?

...Or perhaps even the Crown?

Did some office no longer wish for me to communicate with mine future wife?

And for what reason? I could discern an agenda pertaining to the matter depending upon what bureau was responsible for my apparent silence.

However, my methodical internal deliberations were interrupted by a gasping peal.

"Theron…" Valerie's wounded voice rasped forth, and a sudden spasm of coughs brought my fiancée into a staggering curl.

Gently guiding Valerie to one of the garden's marble benches, I sought some sequestered sanctum to ease my future wife's labored breathing.

Forgetting my station, and ignoring the honor of mine House, my mailed arms cradled Valerie tenderly.

I spoke not a word as I slowly rocked her weightless figure back and forth, while Valerie overcame the chronic breathlessness that had plagued her since the mutilation.

A vibrantly clothed hand took hold of my shoulder, and Valerie desperately clung to my person.

But it was neither the fear nor the pain of her failing body that drew such heedless affection from my fiancée.

It was a longing, a reaffirmation, a disbelief at my presence, and a desire for my continued presence.

"...Theron…" Valerie weakly murmured my name, before a minor fit shattered her breath again.

I could hear the rattle of my fiancée's lungs in every exhaled wind.

I could feel the spaces in between Valerie's ribs from where my unarmored under arm pressed against her side.

A lump formed within my throat.

What I held against my person was hollow, fragile, failing.

Barely still living…

My wife to be.

-My beloved Valerie.

I don't know how long the two of us held one another within the potential sight of the Parfum Court.

Scandal and hearsay be damned.

This was mine wife, and no code nor station would ever come before this duty.

"...I'm sorry…" Valerie gasped when breath could fill her torn lungs again.

My arms tightened, and my face buried itself further into her raven hair.

"Valerie… I promised you…" I whispered softly into her ear, no tone of dread or pain revealed in my loving voice.

A veiled arm rose to hold my head against hers, and for moment, neither of us knew the fear. Neither of us suffered the uncertainty.

"You do your House a proud service, Sir Theron of House Halcyon." Valerie reluctantly drew away from me in a proper display of the social expectations imposed by her courtly station.

I however, faltered when my arms no longer held the woman who would one day be mine wife.

"To have achieved a station within the Noble Order of the Crownguard at such a young age, and to be trusted so implicitly by the King as to serve his majesty as the Royal Inquisitor? House Halcyon stands most favored by your service." Valerie's courtly composure was regained so suddenly that even I was struck dumb by the rapid transition. What few eyes had played witness to mine and Valerie's less than formal exchange may even have doubted Valerie's recent display of frailty.

And though I was awed by Valerie's stately bearing, my own countenance had need to match my fiancée's facade, and play the Kalosian Court's two-faced game.

"And you, Lady Valerie, have done aught but honor House Le-Faye with your steadfast commitment. The Gymnase Meister of Laverre City? My modest station simply cannot compare." I cordially replied with a humble gesture towards the elegant lady beside me.

"Your words are too kind, Sir Theron." Lady Valerie inclined her head to the origin of my voice. We both settled back against the marble bench, and I turned my detached gaze south, towards the interior of Parfum Palace's outlying wall.

We observed a moment of dignified silence, before Sir Theron conducted the introduction of a new avenue of conversation.

"I received word regarding your uncle's fate. On behalf of House Halcyon, I wish to offer our condolences to House Le-Faye for your family's loss." I stated dispassionately.

-Courtesy is ever the shallow formal adherence.

"It was a travesty, of that there is no doubt. The late Lord Albert Le-Faye will be sorely missed. Long live the glories of House Le-Faye." Valerie uttered in a proud and fierce intonation.

"May your father, Lord Edwin Le-Faye, bring House Le-Faye both caliber and opulence beneath his capable rule." I bowed to Valerie, folding at my waist.

"...If I may speak quite plainly, Sir Theron?" Valerie murmured in an undertone.

I needed no further hint than those thinly veiled words.

"Thanatos." I breathed. My chosen spirit appeared above the bench that Valerie and I sat upon, and his grey soulfire dimmed the early evening sunlight, before completely overwhelming the presence of day with his unhallowed flame.

What sparse eyes watched Valerie and I, were now averted from the sterile glow of my hovering soulburner. What few onlookers had dared to linger upon the outskirts of my Distortion seep, now fled my silhouette's writhing reach.

"We are alone now, Valerie." I softly spoke. Valerie slowly lay her blind head against my shoulder. As though possessed, my arm rose to drape around Valerie protectively.

"...I missed you…" Valerie murmured.

The lump rose anew within my throat.

"...I feared I'd never see you again..." I struggled to whisper through my crumbling composure.

"I know that we don't have long, but… I've been wanting to speak with you privately for a painfully long time. Ever since my father inherited the lordship of House Le-Faye… I've been worried..." Valerie shuddered.

"What frightens you, my love? Has not the rule of your father passed down luxury and security to his heir?" I asked quietly. Valerie swallowed.

"This last year has afforded mine immediate kin a comfort previously unknown to our rank, but… I am not my father's heir." Valerie hesitantly confessed.

"You are his only child. Whom else would succeed-?"

"Theron… I… This body-" Valerie choked.

My lips pursed together in denial, even as the corners of my eyes watered.

"...I have lived twice as long as I should have, Theron. Longer. I should have died the day that Empousa-"

"Valerie!" I pleaded, begging my fiancée to deny her mortality.

"Theron… I will die soon. Very soon. If fate is kind, then I have a year or two before death claims me. I have already discussed such with my father. I am not fit to serve House Le-Faye as the family's heir. When succession names a new Lord for House Le-Faye, mine cousin Wendell shall inherit the family throne. I will not be present for the next succession of family Lords." Valerie overroad my desperate voice, and stated the heartless truth in a detached voice.

-Valerie had no fear of her death.

Valerie had faced that inescapable doom early in her youth, and she had been raised in awareness and preparation for such a cruel eventuality.

...But the guilt of grieving those who cherished Valerie after her passing still plagued my fiancée.

There was no assurance that Valerie could offer to her beloved or close of kin.

-Only a prayer.

"Theron… I also discussed our marriage with my father. If you still desire…" Valerie's breath faded, and a tearless weeping overcame my scarred love.

"...I promised you, against all ends. You promised me the same. My vow has never wavered, Valerie. You and I were married when we made that vow, regardless of the Crown's consent." I spoke firmly, yet compassion shook my intonation. Reaching past around my unarmored nape, I unfastened my dearest possession from its hideaway.

"We were children, Theron… I can't hold you to that promise. If a fairer life for you can be found in marriage to a healthier bride, then-" Valerie gasped.

I pressed a chain of worn wooden beads into my fiancée's fidgeting hands. Though they had once been colorful and haphazardly arranged, age had faded and chipped the timber orbs. My decoration was clumsily constructed, comprised of poor materials, and common trash at a glance. It was so obviously a child's design. But one elongated bead still held a carving long since etched into it by mine own hand.

" _Aeterni Adversum Omnium Finibus, Ego Promisimus."_

" _...Eternal against all ends, I promised..."_

The bead to the left of the central etching was carved with my name, and the corresponding bead to the right was inscribed with Valerie's.

Valerie's breath froze when her hands took hold of this crude artifact. This rude object.

-This shared vow of ours.

"...You kept it…" Valerie's touched voice could barely whisper.

This necklace was a gift.

A gift that Valerie had fashioned for me before the Parfum Royal Guard stole me away from her reach.

A gift that Valerie had bestowed upon me before I had been made into an Esquire. Before I had been knighted. Before I had sired a morbid legend.

Before Theron Halcyon had become " _The Hole."_

"...It has never left my person. I have never found a decorum fairer or more cherished. A child's promise we once made, but a child's vow I hold all the more revered. I spoke truly when I called you my beloved, Valerie… And I will never forget my beloved's reply." I swallowed as Exodus made his presence known in an unheeded chuckle from mine own shadow. I quickly deadened my heart against the eidolons' hunger, hiding that covetous emotion from mine spirits' appetites.

My breath shuddered as all four of my wraiths drew closer to Valerie and I; betraying their gluttony in their haunting advance.

"Sir Theron-?" Valerie's voice shook as I audibly fought to suppress both my fear and my love.

"I am fine, Lady Valerie. Exodus, Demeter, Thanatos, Pariah. Return to your confluences." I ordered in a steely tone.

All four spirits diminished when my guarded heart revealed no weakness or scrap for their cancerous indulgences.

"You are not fine, my love…" Valerie whispered, endangering my apathetic composure with her worried utterance.

"Four spirits, Theron… Why?" Valerie asked in a choked voice.

My throat tightened.

"It was my family's wish…" I answered in the strongest voice that I could muster.

"But why Exodus? Why the Eidolon of War? Why did your family force _The White Shadow_ upon you?" Valerie shuddered.

"...It is my duty. The former Channeler of Exodus passed into the blackened lands, and I… I was selected to serve as Exodus's supplicant, so that The White Shadow would remain true to the Halcyon's service…" I closed my eyes against the bitter tears. Truthfully, my greatest asset to House Halcyon was not so much a public spectacle of our family's power, or even my example of our House's loyalty to the Crown…

...But rather, Sir Theron Halcyon also served his House in the most 'honored' of lowly ranks.

I was a Keeper. A Keeper of the Halcyon's greatest spirits. A living prison for the most horrific of unearthly devils.

And as a Keeper, Sir Theron was little more than the sustenance that bound the mightiest of wraiths to House Halcyon's cause for a generation longer.

Even though my status in the Crownguard and the Kalosian League afforded Sir Theron with a privilege unique amongst all former Keepers: the possession of Exodus's Mega-Stone and the Halcyon's only Keystone…

...The Halcyon's Central family had decided that Sir Theron's most prominent contribution to our Noble House was to serve in the the capacity of both Exodus and Demeter's Keeper. Though I had proven my spiritual preeminence to the core nobles by raising a new Halcyon Heirloom in the form of mine own Thanatos, the Central family did not consider such an asset a sufficient display of service from one of their lesser brood. If anything, the Halcyon Central family likely desired my early death, so as to pass on the three most treasured wraiths I kept unto House Halcyon's yet unborn heir.

It was all a matter of time. I had no doubt whatsoever that the birth of House Halcyon's next heir would correspond with mine untimely death.

I would be expected to serve as the sacrifice in such a child's first Channeling, and the service of mine greatest spirits would accompany the gift of my life to the heir of House Halcyon.

It was the primary reason for why Valerie lamented the fourth Ghost dutifully Channeled by Theron Halcyon.

Though House Halcyon's current Duchess had refused to foster an heir, her duty would eventually prove inescapable. But for now, it was not my preordained future that troubled me…

"...Do they still hurt you, Theron?" Valerie's saddened voice asked me, though she was well aware of the honest answer.

"...I do not wish to speak of it, Valerie." It was not the voice of Sir Theron that answered Valerie.

Faint.

Frightened.

Lost.

It was the voice of a wounded child that answered my betrothed, and I trembled as the conflicting emotions welled within my breast.

-I hated them

Every one of the four that I had been bound to.

Exodus.

Demeter.

Thanatos.

Pariah.

Each spirit tortured me. Each spirit fed from me. Each spirit haunted me.

Each spirit hungered for my death.

And yet…

...I pitied every one of the four that called me master.

Once, they had been as I was now.

Passionate. Living. Loving. Human.

And even though all of that wholesome emotion was now devoid in their beings, the awareness of what they had once possessed tormented them as surely as their existence tormented me. What the four had lost could never be reclaimed, and the absence of their humanity was eternally mourned by each and all.

No one yearns to become a Ghost. No one hopes to futilely scream forever in a cold and empty hell.

No one longs to be imprisoned away from all love and redemption.

No one wishes to become less than human, vexed with only enough morality to grieve and loathe the monster that they have become.

And it was my fate, to one day join the Ghosts in their cursed existence.

I was denied an afterlife where a reunion with my dying Valerie was even possible.

This wasting life was all I had for I and my Valerie.

Death would separate Theron Halcyon from his every hope and love, and neither would ever be cherished by his Ghost again.

Instead…

...The Ghost of Theron Halcyon would hunt for those who cherished love and hope, and that hateful and loathsome monster would feed from the living in a vain desire to experience life again.

It is the fate of every Halcyon. It is the doom of every Channeler.

For the sin of uniting the Distortion with our beings…

...Our souls are damned to suffer the blackened lands for all eternity.

"I am fine, Valerie. Do not fear for me. My spirit is far from broken." A strength I only knew in defiance hardened my cold voice.

... _I am not a hound…_

"My love…" Valerie's soft hand found my chin, and her gentle palm cupped my jaw.

"I am still the same Theron you knew as a child. I will always guard that secret me. For you, Valerie. I will always be Theron for you." I whispered to my future wife, and her soft intake of breath renewed my covetous passions.

All etiquette was forgotten. All restraint denied.

Valerie's veiled face rose to mine, and the shifting cloth offered her tender lips to mine.

One of her hands still cupped my jaw. Her other hand curved around my head.

And my arms wrapped around Valerie's back and waist, and I drew her bodily against my heraldry, as I met her begging lips with my own.

This was not our first kiss.

-Far from it.

But every kiss before had been a child's teasing exchange, or a silent goodbye.

This was something more.

This was a physical reaffirmation of our vow.

It was a new line, unwritten in our promise, yet inscribed into our very hearts, and known in the comfort of one another's touch.

This was a kiss shared by lovers.

A kiss that we had only dreamed of in distant green summers that had long since greyed.

A kiss that we knew to be forbidden.

There was no apology as we fell away, no shame to burn our cheeks, nor fear to weigh our hearts.

For one perfect moment, Valerie and I had experienced a taste of our most celebrated dream.

"Sir Theron, what time do we have left?" Valerie asked me as Thanatos's light faded.

"Time enough to present ourselves to Princess Diantha in a punctual manner. If you would be so kind, Lady Valerie, It would greatly honor this lowly Knight if he were permitted to accompany the Lady of Le-Faye on her return to Parfum's Grand Solar." I rose from the bench, and offered my betrothed a genteel arm.

"Of course, Knight of the Crownguard. The Lady of Le-Faye could not possibly find more pleasing dining company than that of the valiant Sir Theron." Valerie's Courtier upbringing dictated her mannerisms, just as my Court training had dictated my own.

Once more did Valerie join with my mailed elbow, and once more did the pair of us march side by side, entwined arm in arm. Dignified and aloof for all of Kalos to see.

…

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 **The Saga of Kings, Book II: Prophet**

 _Written by,_

 **Vile M.F. Slanders**

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" _ **...Maiestatis crimen illud est quod adversus populum Romanum vel adversus securitatem eius committitur... (...The crime of majestas is that which is committed against the Roman people or against their safety…)"**_ _-Lex Maiestatis: the Roman definition of treason under Tiberius. Punishable by civil disability and public torture, followed by dishonorable death by decapitation and culturally enforced infamy._

 **-v-**

 **Chapter II: The Fate of Traitors**

"Good evening to you, young sir!"

"..."

"...Are you Theron Halcyon?"

"...I- I am."

"I'm Valerie Lefaye of Noble House Le-Faye. It's an honor to make your acquaintance."

"...Um…Uh-"

"Are you unwell, young sir?"

"I… I don't know what's going on…"

"Oh. Did nobody tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"Oh my. Well, I'm Valerie, your wife to be. You and I were promised to one another shortly after our birth."

"-M-my… my wife?"

"...I'm terribly sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable-"

"No, it's not that! It's just that… I have a wife?"

"No, not yet, silly! Oh, excuse me- Not as of yet, young sir. We must be formally married before we are pronounced husband and wife. You are my fiancé."

"What is a fiancé?"

"Um… I ah, I… I don't know?"

"Then how do you know that I'm your fiancé?"

"Because my uncle- Because Lord Albert Le-Faye of Noble House Le-Faye told me so."

"Oh."

"...I'm… I don't know what to say now…"

"I'm sorry, I've never met a child from another Noble House. Please, allow me to introduce myself. I am Theron Halcyon, of Noble House Halcyon."

"..."

"..."

"This is… uncomfortable…"

"...I feel the same way."

"Do they… Do they teach you Court Etiquette in House Halcyon?"

"Is that an interrogation technique?"

"...A- A _what?"_

"Is that a discipline of torture?"

"NO! Why would you think that?!"

"...What do they teach you in House Le-Faye, Lady Valerie?"

"The Do's and Don'ts of Courtiership. Such as poise, presentation, proper attire, oratory, penmanship, dining etiquette… You know, the nobility's normal criteria."

"That's normal?"

"Of course! Don't they teach you the same here?"

"...They teach me psychology, kinesics, human anatomy, inquisition techniques, covert tactics, and swordsmanship."

"Swordsmanship?! So you're a Knight then!"

"-No! Not yet! I'm just a squire!"

"...But you will be a Knight, won't you?"

"Of -of course. I just need to grow up first."

"Married to a Knight... I've always wanted to be married to a valiant Knight!"

"...V-valiant…?"

"Of course! Knights are always valiant!"

"...How are Knights valiant?"

"I'll show you! Here, you be the Knight, and I'll be the beautiful Lady Courtier! Oh! Do you have a dragon on hand?"

"...I have Pariah-?"

"No, no! You need your sword to slay the dragon! Here! Empousa, you play the role of dragon! Let Sir Theron slay you with his sword!"

"Slay? But-?"

"It's what Knights do! You're protecting the beautiful Lady-Courtier Valerie from Empousa, the dragoness! Show Sir Theron your teeth, Empousa! Now growl like a dragon!"

"Sir Theron, stand between me and Empousa! Protect your Lady-Courtier!"

"Ready yourself for battle, Pariah."

"-?"

"...What?"

"You sounded like a Knight just now!"

"D-did I?"

"It was perfect! Do it again!"

"...Umm… Pariah-? Ready yourself f-for b-battle?"

"No! Not like that! Like how you did before! Remember, you're facing a dragon! They can smell fear! Be cold as steel! Be brave like a Knight!"

"..."

"..."

"...Away with you, Empousa. Forfeit this field, or die by my hand."

"That's… absolutely perfect… though a bit… _scary…?"_

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to frighten you-!"

"It's quite alright, Sir Theron… I just…"

"...I'm sorry, Lady Valerie…"

"...?"

"...I'm not trying to frighten you."

"...It's just so cold... I can't stop shaking…"

"Pariah, please… make it stop. Please make it stop…"

"...I can't breathe-"

"Make it go away, Pariah! You can hurt me later! Just don't hurt her!"

"...What's going on-?"

"Pariah! I order you to desist! Get rid of your seep! Do it now! I command you!"

"..."

"It's okay, Valerie! It's okay! I'll protect you from the Ghosts! I promise! I'll protect you!"

"..."

"...Valerie-? Wake up! Please wake up!"

"..."

"...Please… please forgive me…"

"..."

…

I returned to my quarters, and prepared myself for my evening vigil.

Thanatos filled my chambers with grey light and a wretched hiss, while Exodus sank into the darkness, riding the currents of Thanatos's shadows to every corner and niche of Parfum.

I accompanied them on their mission, and listened as every whisper of the palace played out in the Distortion.

" _Eight o'clock at night, and all is well-"_

" _Don't forget the leavening! We need that starter fermenting as soon as possible-!"_

" _...Where's that bloody relief? I swear I'm going to catch a cold on this tower-"_

" _Goodnight, Samantha. And before you nod off, say it with me one more time. Poise, presentation, proper attire, oratory, penmanship-"_

" _...Goddamned Aurorus is fogging up the courtyard. No wonder it's so fucking cold-"_

" _-A word with you, Allan."_

My focus was interrupted by Princess Diantha's voice. Lingering on the scene as it unfolded, I watched as Princess Diantha, accompanied by her Victoria, encroached upon King Alan's study with a severe disposition.

" _What is it now, Diantha?"_ King Allan tossed aside his pen, and looked up at his elder sister, who still stood haughty at the study's doorway.

" _May I request some privacy with my brother? Or is he afraid that I might have poison sequestered somewhere on my person?"_ Princess Diantha asked the otherwise empty room.

" _My liege?"_ The invisible Sir Wikstrom asked of our sovereign.

" _It is permissible. You are dismissed, Lord Wikstrom."_ King Allan waved the Knight-Commander away with a flick of his wrist, and Lord Wikstrom made to obey his King's decree. My superior's servants were still shielding him from my wraiths, but I could feel Princess Diantha's reproach when she met his unseen eyes.

My Princess was clearly unhappy with her Iron Lord, and Victoria seemed to share her Regent's sentiments.

" _That means you too, Victoria. Please see Lord Wikstrom to the outer solar. He's already heard enough of our dispute."_ Princess Diantha gently commanded of her white witch, and Victoria curtseyed to her Regent with a modest tilt of her head.

I took that as my cue, and eased my focus from this scene.

Victoria, however, intervened before I could return to my vigil.

Of course she knew that I was watching them. It was my duty after all. But the Valkyrie of Kalos called out to me with a playful suggestion; more of a subliminal expression than a language; more of a subconscious desire than a thought imparted with words.

 _Stay._ The fay babaylan psionically commanded of me.

And so I stayed with my Princess, while a pleased Victoria entwined her arm around Lord Wikstrom's own, and allowed herself to be guided away from King Allan's study.

" _...Still we wonder when that thing will turn on you, dear sister."_ King Allan grumbled, unnerved by Victoria's regal mannerisms.

" _It's a possibility, though if I'm to be perfectly frank, brother? The possibility of Victoria turning on me is so unlikely, that even speaking of it invokes my derision."_ Princess Diantha rose to her Valkyrie's defense, shaking her head at King Allan's concern.

" _...Yet still we dread that one day, we'll hear Victoria's words leaving your mouth."_ King Allan pressed on, his words offered to wound, but they were supported by a personal fear.

" _Oh for heaven's sake, Allan. It's not like you'd listen to Victoria anymore than you'd listen to me._ " Princess Diantha grumbled.

" _We're being serious, Diantha."_ King Allan's fear was lessened by his sister's rebuttal, though his concern for her was still apparent to my eyes.

" _You underestimate Victoria's intelligence and ambition. She knows what would become of her, if I were no longer in the picture. I don't believe for a moment that Victoria would risk losing everything she's been given for such a fruitless betrayal."_ Princess Diantha brushed off her brother's worry, but she was touched by it all the same.

" _So what did you wish to discuss with us, Diantha?"_ King Allan pushed his chair from its niche at his desk, and pried his expansive girth from his study's throne.

" _I wanted to discuss Sir Theron of Noble House Halcyon."_

The whispers recoiled as though I'd lashed out at them. Mastering myself against the shock, I regathered my focus and welcomed the whispers to me once more.

" _...This again, Diantha?"_ King Allan stated in a weary voice.

" _Come now, Allan. Give the poor boy a chance to enjoy his life, before it's too late-"_

" _Too late? Please, Diantha… Remember who you're speaking of. He was born a Halcyon. He was raised in that misery. It's all he knows, it's all he'll ever know-"_

" _You're wrong."_ Princess Diantha cut her brother off with an angry hiss.

" _You don't know him, Diantha. We do. We've stood witness to Sir Theron's proficiency at interrogations, while you played your games in the League. If you had seen Sir Theron's mediations in the Black Hall, you wouldn't be so quick to advocate for his goodwill."_ King Allan spoke in a tone of finality, believing these words to be his closing argument, yet Princess Diantha had prepared a rebuttal of her own.

" _And when was the last time that you hosted a dinner for Sir Theron and his betrothed? Have you even spoken with him as he dined?"_ Princess Diantha countered. King Allan froze in shock.

" _Betrothed? Sir Theron-?"_

" _Don't tell me that you forgot all about the poor girl you mortified at my soiree?"_ Princess Diantha spat.

" _...The delegate from Johto-?"_

" _That was Lady Valerie Le-Faye of Noble House Le-Faye! The daughter of Lord Edwin Le-Faye?"_ Princess Diantha shook her head in exasperation.

" _That child is still alive-?"_

" _Oh for God's sake Allan! Why did father ever let you out in public?!"_ Princess Diantha was positively humiliated, an expression that quickly invoked her brother's indignity.

" _There are hundreds of Noble children, Diantha! Thousands! How are we to know which child is-"_

" _Because Lord Edwin introduced you to Valerie at his coronation! Don't you remember?!"_

King Allan went silent as he called to mind the aforementioned event. Sifting through the memoirs, King Allan located a colorful curtsey and a raven haired girl; but he could not conjure up the recollection of her name.

" _We remember it now. That was years ago."_ King Allan dismissed the memory the moment he'd reclaimed it.

" _Years, Allan? Or only months?"_ Princess Diantha sighed in frustration.

" _Why are we supposed to remember every bleeding daughter that our Lords introduce to us?!"_ King Allan roared at his sister's expression of disappointment.

" _...Because you're a King, Allan. And your Lords expect you to remember their daughters' names."_ Princess Diantha replied in a cold voice.

" _...The girl that was dismembered. Yes, yes; we remember that little nightmare from all those years ago. A shining example as to why the fay should never be trusted."_ King Allan was nothing short of brusque in his retort, and Princess Diantha's brow furrowed with anger.

" _Lady Valerie has lived a hard life. She can barely walk without assistance, much less see. Yet she's made the most of what she has, and has risen to a proud station within the League."_ Princess Diantha murmured at first, but her voice gained in fierceness as she spoke her praise of Valerie.

" _She still keeps the doll that nearly killed her close at hand, does she not?"_ King Allan's voice grew snide with an accusation.

" _That's her choice, Allan. It's nothing to incriminate her for."_ Princess Diantha was infuriated at having to defend a cripple from her brother's prejudice.

" _Were we Lord Edwin, we would've disemboweled that little Mawile-"_

" _He wasn't a Lord back then, Allan. His brother was. And Lord Albert insisted on keeping Valerie and Empousa together."_ Princess Diantha interjected.

" _Long live the Lord of Le-Faye. Good riddance. That lunatic Albert was a nettling thorn in our side. At least Lord Edwin appears to be able to discern the difference between a rubbish bag and a hat."_ King Allan grumbled.

" _As well as arranging for Valerie and Empousa's continued union during his tenure as Lord of Le-Faye, Lord Albert also arranged her marriage to Theron Halcyon."_ Princess Diantha ignored her brother's latest insult, and attempted to steer the discussion back onto its intended heading.

" _...Why did Lord Albert Le-Faye detest his niece so?"_

My King's attempt at a joke would've raised choirs of laughter in nearly any other hall of Parfum, but Princess Diantha did not appreciated her brother's jab against Valerie or myself.

" _...And just as she chose to respect her union with Empousa, Lady Valerie Le-Faye has also chosen to honor her marriage to Sir Theron of House Halcyon."_ It was not only the lack of laughter that informed King Allan of a crossed line.

Princess Diantha's tone could barely conceal her smoldering wrath.

" _And why is this a concern for your King?"_ King Allan asked with an authoritative air.

" _...Because my King refuses to grant Sir Theron any leave from duty."_

" _And we've come right back to where we started from, and where we left off last time."_ King Allan grumbled.

" _Allan, be reasonable-"_

" _We are being reasonable, Diantha. Sir Theron is a valuable asset to our defense. Were we to release him from duty while the threat of a bloody revolution looms over-"_

" _The Crownguard have been more than an adequate defense for the Throne! Sir Theron is a convenience for them, not a crutch!"_

" _Sir Mayhorn served his King just as nobly as any Knight in our Palace. Yet without Sir Theron's 'convenience,' Sir Mayhorn's role in an assassination attempt may have succeeded in realizing the death of your King."_ King Allan silenced his sister's protest with those words, but despite her concession to this particular verity, Princess Diantha refused to yield the battle.

" _Brother, I fear for you. But I also fear for your reliance on Sir Theron. The rest of your Crownguard has grown lax in their duties; Lord Wikstrom himself is growing fat from the labors of Sir Theron-"_

" _Lord Wikstrom is approaching the midpoint of his sixth decade, Diantha. Not everyone ages as gracefully as you do."_ King Allan punctuated his observation by slapping the bulge beneath his breasts. It was self-depreciative, but he was in the company of his dear sister; who had trivialized the subject of her brother's weight in favor of criticizing his policies.

" _...And Sir Theron will be incredibly lucky to see his sixth decade. Four channels, Allan. He won't live half as long as you will. So who will you turn to when your invaluable Sir Theron has passed on?"_ Princess Diantha's voice was rife with emotion. King Allan sighed, but was silent otherwise.

Then-

" _Why do you want Sir Theron in your League so badly, Diantha?"_

The silence resumed as Princess Diantha considered how best to phrase her reply.

" _...Have you seen him in battle? Have you seen what he's capable of in an arena?"_

King Allan snorted.

" _We've seen the League recordings of Sir Theron's nightmares. They're practically as terrifying as his interrogation methodology."_

" _They're genius, Allan. Absolutely genius. And the whole of Kalos knows it. Even you."_

" _We're not denying that the boy is proficient. He'd never have discovered the capabilities of a Litwick in court if he were of the Halcyon's common stock. But his proficiency is best utilized here in Parfum, at his King's defense."_

" _You're missing the point! Sir Theron could easily earn a seat within the Elite Four! He could even surpass Lord Wikstrom if you'd just give him the chance! Think of it! Think of your preeminence! The Iron Lord, and The Terror of Halcyon, both members of the Elite Four; both sworn to the service of the Crownguard? Two of Kalos's mightiest and most noble of warriors united in the defense of their King?"_

King Allan began to laugh.

" _You give the League's influence far too much credit, Diantha."_ King Allan jeered.

" _Too much credit-? TOO MUCH CREDIT?!"_

My Princess was beside herself in furious disbelief.

" _Lower your voice-"_

" _THE HELL WITH YOU, ALLAN! THE LEAGUE IS WHAT HAS KEPT OUR FAMILY ON THE THRONE-"_ Princess Diantha cut herself off with a sharp breath, before continuing to berate King Allan in a far lower tone.

" _-If the people of Kalos hadn't favored their sportsmen more than they favored a myth, our family would have lost the throne three centuries ago! And you have the gall to act as though the Crown of Kalos is entitled to you!?"_ Princess Diantha hissed.

" _It was a foolish practice, and the people of Kalos knew it! Allowing a Ghost to sanction the coronation of a King? It was madness! Our family's League had nothing to do with people's rejection of that barbaric and archaic practice!"_ King Allan spat.

" _If I recall my history lessons, exiling the Aegislash from our coronation ceremonies almost resulted in a civil war. Do you remember that lesson, Allan? Or did you sleep through that lecture as well?"_

King Allan fumed in silence, while his sister awaited his concession. But the King would not be swayed by this argument. I divined such before even Princess Diantha could.

" _Times have changed, Diantha. The people's concerns have changed with them. Your League isn't as powerful as it once was-"_

" _Then tell me how well your proposed legislation would have passed in the Royal Court, if it were not for me and my reputation advocating on your behalf?"_

Once again, the study was silenced by King Allan's doubt.

" _...Just let him compete, Allan. Let him be married, before he and his fiancée are forever separated. Let him enjoy his life while he still can."_

Princess Diantha was begging on my behalf, separating my focus from the whispers as distractible emotions wracked my heart.

" _...I'll trade you. My Lord Wikstrom for your Sir Theron?"_ A plea, voiced with a secret playfulness recapitulated Princess Diantha's request.

" _...Don't be silly, Diantha. Your King owns them both."_ King Allan chuckled, and I could feel my Princess's despair.

" _...Whatever happened to the fat little boy who used to pretend that he was King? Remember, Allan? The ruckus you raised in the gardens, while I tended my Vivillions?"_ Princess Diantha's voice rarely sounded so wounded.

" _We remember how you used to have your Vivillions poison that fat boy, whenever the ruckus he raised disturbed you."_ King Allan grudgingly remarked. Princess Diantha laughed; a short, musical, sad laugh.

" _It was a sedative, not a poison. Though father did just about kill me when he found out…"_ I could not tell if my Princess still laughed or if she now wept. She'd lost all dictation of her emotions, and her fond nostalgia was now mingling with a retrospective remorse.

" _...We cannot permit for Sir Theron's absence from Parfum, Diantha. We are sorry."_

And at those soft words, my Princess took her leave of King Allan's study. Furious at her younger brother, and angry at herself for her defeat.

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He sat rooted to his chair, stiff backed and unmoving. Frozen in time as the world around him continued to move in a cascade of muted colors and distant sounds.

The invitation was my bait; Exodus was my snare.

And now monsieur Malcolm was beholden as my unwilling host.

"I'm so glad to make this acquaintance, monsieur Malcolm. Pardon my unexpected arrival; I do hope to find you well?" I graciously took my seat in the chair opposed to his, as the depth of my penumbra swallowed his desensitized world.

"Always wondered when you slimy gits would finally catch up with me." Monsieur Malcolm greeted me with a snide grimace.

"S'il vous plaît, monsieur! There's no need for flattery. We've always known exactly where you were." My pleasant smile blossomed into a demeaning grin; a gloat worn to demoralize my prey for his ignorance.

"That's a load bollocks. If you damned Halcyons have always known; then why has it taken you this long to get your chilly mitts on me?" Monsieur Malcolm spat.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est-? Dear me, monsieur… Whatever gave you the impression that we were out to capture you?" I feigned shock with a wicked glint in my eyes. Monsieur Malcolm jerked against Exodus's loosened bonds, his dogged eyes warily meeting mine.

"...What are you getting at, Halcyon?" A grim voice asked me, giving my shoulders reason to shake with a silent chuckle.

"Oh, do forgive me. I simply love this part. It's always such a pleasure to see the looks on their faces when we confirm what they always suspected..." My cruel grin returned in full, despite the bashful shake of my head.

"Allow me to explain. We've always known where you were and what you were doing, monsieur… because you were always doing exactly what we wanted you to do." I let the damning portents of that line sink in, before I continued my explication.

"It's common knowledge that the Halcyons have their shadows in every nook and cranny; a shade at every keyhole and a spectre at every eave. Is it so hard to believe, monsieur, that your entire illicit career has served the interests of House Halcyon? That you have been one of our shades from the very beginning?" I settled into my chair, and motioned to the staff for a drink. Waiting for my beverage to be delivered, I examined the tabletop with idle interest; permitting my host the time he required to contemplate the implications of my rhetoric.

"...Let's pretend for a moment that I believe you." Monsieur Malcolm warily began, after our serveuse had scurried away from the seep of a Halcyon.

"...Why the hell would you let me run my business, if it's been a threat to your oligarchy from the beginning?" Monsieur Malcolm growled.

"Your business is our business, monsieur Malcolm. True, some of our agencies have suffered for your continued practices, but overall: your customs have been an appreciable asset to our cause. House Halcyon only disposes of the underworld's less productive ventures to moderate the competition. I don't mean to boast, but we have a knack for identifying and consolidating the most lucrative of our iniquitous investments." I could not have been any more relaxed revealing these dark secrets. There were few other details that I enjoyed more than the duty of herald to the Marché Noir.

How I loved delivering the message that turned these degenerates' world upside down.

"All this time, you thought yourself a free agent; a sovereign of your own fate. But in reality, you have always been a marionette; a servant of your lords. You never noticed the strings we fettered to your limbs, the strings we held from high above you. At least, not until the time came for you to dance and frolic upon our stage..." I paused for effect, and let my eyes go slack with hollow sight. The narrow smile upon my lips gradually lessened in its playful expression, until my visage bore the numb smirk of the dead.

"...And your time to shine upon that stage is now, monsieur Malcolm."

Such wicked pleasure filled my chest with a warming illness, as the swindler opposed to me quaked afore he crumbled; frightened tears alighting at the corners of his eyes.

"It's always been said that House Halcyon owns the underworld. Certainly this revelation should not come as such a surprise?"

Not even Exodus could have mocked as I, as a once proud thief caved into humble despair.

"...Be damned already, you soulless snake…" So wept my host, in his bitterness and fear.

"Spare me. The time for illusions has passed. Embrace the chains that bind you, or sacrifice all dignity and weep in your frailty like a babe. No one ever said the truth was kind." I sneered at his weakness, cold as I was to the harshness of a lesson I'd learned at birth.

"...Then make me dance, and be done with it, you black hearted devil! I'll not be toyed with by the likes of you!" Some residual defiance, some measure of an unbroken spirit surfaced in my host, and I eagerly crushed it with only my chilling silence and a patronizing smile.

"...It's so refreshing to see another damned soul being joined with ours in brotherhood. Welcome to the real world, monsieur Malcolm. Do make yourself at home." I lingered over monsieur Malcolm's agony, driven as I was by a thirst for reprieve.

...So strange it seemed to me then, to find solace in the suffering of another. So strange was it to feel my old wounds heal whilst monsieur Malcolm's new wounds bled...

"We have brought you out of the shadows, monsieur Malcolm, because we have need of an intimate service of yours." I forfeited my sadistic air, and assumed a business man's address.

"And what service would that be?" Monsieur Malcolm spat.

"We know that you have contacts within a very… shall we say, _xenophobic_ tribe of Hoenn?" I simpered, as that mischievous glint returned to lighten my eyes.

"...Just what do you want from the bloody Draconids?"

I reached into the confines of my disguise, and drew an old, tattered leaf of parchment from the confines of my coat. Smoothing out the softened parchment with a ginger palm, I revealed a faint symbol inked in a rainbow of faded dyes.

A serpentine double-helix, conjoined at either end in points, and encased within a crystalline sphere.

A symbol of an old faith. A symbol of phenomenon. A symbol of untold and exclusive power.

"When you establish contact with the tribe, give them this as a sign of our intentions. Do mention that we are willing to exchange such, provided that they are willing to meet us with equity." I slid the ancient slip of parchment across the table to monsieur Malcolm; who received my message with a stunned air.

"...Does the Crown have a part in this exchange?" Monsieur Malcolm asked of me with a suspicious tone.

"This matter will be handled by your person directly. No other individuals or agencies are to have a knowing hand in this arrangement. You will be compensated for any expenses your errand requires; and upon completion of your mission, House Halcyon will erase all records of your criminal past. Consider it a premium; your second chance at a free life, monsieur Malcolm." I abstained from answering my host's question with a facsimile of authority. I would not be questioned by a puppet, and the severe look within my eyes made such known to the now deathly silent marketeer.

"...This is the single most weighty of customs that you have ever laundered. Never ponder or disseminate the significance that you have been entrusted with. This will be the first noble act of your new life, monsieur Malcolm; should you adhere to these statutes."

A miniscule island of a man sat before me; barren, save for a palpable dread that he could not yet explain.

An unfamiliar empathy extended from me to him, as I realized the parallel sentiment we both shared in doubt.

"...It will be done."

So came the dutiful compliance of a puppet.

"Excellent. Exodus, accompany monsieur Malcolm on his errand. Ensure the security of his delivery." I rose from my chair, and made ready to leave, but a new protest from my host brought my escape to a cease.

"Now wait just a cocking minute! I'll not suffer any bloody hauntings on this errand!" Monsieur Malcolm nearly shouted.

My dead stare silenced all protest, as the world shuddered before my rapt Ghosts.

There was no patience left within me to tolerate this treason for a moment longer. Half of me desired absolvement in monsieur Malcolm's death; the other half knew that it was too late to dream of absolution.

"You have a duty to perform, monsieur Malcolm. Now see that your duty is done with dignity." So easily did Lord Wikstrom's words come callously from my mouth; so readily did his authority reinforce my bearing.

Untroubled, I took my leave of the pub; bearing one Ghost less than the quartet I'd entered with. All of my hopes, and indeed, my very wellbeing entrusted to a criminal.

Oh, how desperation and solitude had made me a fool.

…

My humble possessions had been discretely packed; my escape route sufficiently prepared. Every mean required to see me secretly to Hoenn had been considered; from concealing my Distortion seep, to concealing my appearance. Subversion was my ally. Solitude, my constant companion. But one matter had yet to have been resolved.

Whom would play charades as Sir Theron in Kalos, while Sir Theron played charades as a traitor? For this conundrum I too had formulated a contingency; but the elected solution had yet to have been adequately trialled.

"Demeter, I summon thee." I whispered to my empty solar, and the creaking of an aging forest filled the chambers with a dreadful dissonance.

I did not look upon Demeter in her distorted nakedness, but averted my eyes as she garbed herself in a new guise.

When the eerie sounds of her garden had faded away at last, I slowly turned about to face my dear wraith.

And there she stood, a three dimensional reflection; greeting me with my own smile.

My breath caught within my throat, as I was overcome by some unforeseen personal profanity.

 _So that's how others see me…_

I looked into a mirror that looked right back at me.

My Demeter. My body double.

My Me.

Why I was so struck by the image of myself eluded me. I'd rarely known such terror as this, but to see myself standing there, so indistinguishable from the true me…

...I was made but a child, and the answer to an unconsidered question now frightened my very soul.

"...You know your role, Demeter. Do not fail me." I could barely speak past the swallowing of my tongue.

The illusions weaved by the Ghosts are well known; but the spiritual creation of a human analogue, this homunculus of my innovation and Demeter's botanical capabilities…

...To my knowledge, this had never been done before.

My doppleganger continued to smile at me, further unnerving me with its farcical expression.

I had originally feared that my design would be faulty; that the homunculus would bear some obvious defect, but to my eyes, Demeter emulated my physical being perfectly.

...Providing me with all the more reason to question exactly what I was.

It was only after she had crossed the distance between us that I realized how close I stood to myself.

Our faces were but scant centimeters away; close enough that I could feel another Theron's breath upon my mouth. Theron's smiling eyes, knowing and loathsome, held my gaze captive in horror.

Every line and blemish, every hair and vein, every pore and contour starkly echoing a faint awareness of my own...

...And then her arms fell around me, and in paralysis, I fell into her embrace…

Before my Demeter kissed me with my own lips, and tenderly held me against myself, as I gagged with revulsion and horror.

Panic freed me from the stupor, and I broke her hold upon me, casting her bodily away from myself.

I was _me._ She was _my_ clone. I was the _master._ She was _my_ slave.

" _Do not touch me."_ I hissed to my grinning alterself, and Demeter mocked me with my own wretched laugh.

"...I have afforded you with more liberty than you've ever known in the service of House Halcyon, and this is how you repay me, Demeter?" I could not hide the damning hurt within my voice; yet it inflicted my doppleganger with a curious expression of remorse.

Demeter shrank before my wounded tone, growing smaller and slight of stature. Sculpted curves rose from where musculature had one chiseled angles, as symmetrical depressions altered the homunculus's athletic physique into an hourglass figure.

A cascade of straight raven hair poured from its scalp, as the gaunt hollows and sharp edges of my doppelganger's face filled out, softened, and smoothed; while femininity graced its most noticeable of distinctions to a familiar figure.

I was rendered speechless by this spectacle; unable to think through the warming cloud rising in my mind.

Valerie stood before me; naked and immaculate. Her natural eyes glistening with a sacred desire; her soft lips parting with shortened breaths.

...An intoxicating aroma wafting from her thighs…

My back was forced to the floor as a famished nymph bore down upon me; lips eager to seize mine; pelvis driving into my hips; arms and loins ensnaring me within her carnal prison…

And then Demeter released all of me but my midriff, to which she claimed as a part of herself. Assuming an intimate roost above my person, Demeter tore at my clothing with her fingers and teeth. My garments were reduced to tatters as a lustful revenant purged me of my dignity, and sought to strip me bare to the soul…

It was only when Demeter gasped upon taking me that I realized what had happened.

Disgust and terror drove me to defy my slave; Demeter now lay beneath me; my hands wrapped around her neck; the anger in my eyes feeding the laughter that welled from her strangled throat.

"...You. Are. _Mine."_ I hissed to my cackling wraith.

Lusting eyes told of only willing subservience to my decree, and Demeter tried once more to take me as her own.

I wrestled her thighs free of my hips, and pulled myself from her warmest region. A gasp, half of pleasure and half of disappointment, sounded from my cruelest wraith; but I revealed only my wrath as I denied her subtle advance yet again.

...It had felt so real, that sensation I thought I'd never know…

But I would only share that sensation with my Valerie; never with her cheap doppelganger.

An amused wraith lay upon her side as I dressed myself; a fake Valerie assuming a relaxed posture and a seductive expression.

"...You are to play the role of Theron, Demeter. Not the role of a whore." I hissed, ignoring the human look of accusation that my wraith cast me.

But the naked Valerie disappeared in an instant, as the doppelganger of Theron Halcyon rose to take her place.

"Of course, Theron. It was presumptuous of me to act on that little impulse. But I'd never have been able to manage it… if some part of you didn't _also_ desire it."

My own voice mocked me with a pretentious apology, spoken in a sly enunciation. I glared at Demeter for her boldness, but then the reason for her abrasive mannerisms struck me.

Demeter wasn't just emulating my appearance flawlessly; she'd replicated my personality to the letter as well.

And as the truism in her prior statement had attested...

...My wraith would never have gotten that far with me, if some unscrupulous subconscious desire of my own had not permitted for it.

Now I was made to feel like traitor to my heart; not merely to my vows of fealty.

My sadistic interrogator. My foul and wretched inquisitor.

My Garden of Agony.

My clever Demeter knew exactly how best to torture me.

…

If causality arbitrated its cruelest verdict to both the malefic and the munificent…

...Then I could afford to be no less impartial in my judgement.

For as my cursed sight had revealed, if I could not bring myself to slay this one innocent in the most stoic of adjudications…

...Then my leniency would damn the whole of humanity.

My eyes never told of the struggle behind them when I abandoned the Cardinal to her fate. I maintained my gaze with her terror stricken eyes as Typhon claimed his uncontested prize. Her screams were brief to my mundane ears, but I watched her infinite deaths play out beyond the shadows of our world. I spectated her incomprehensible ruin within the bleakest of tangible hells. I stood witness, as the death of an innocent gave birth to the most insidious of monstrosities.

Like a loathsome phoenix, the Cardinal had endured the falling of her ashes…

...But what rose from those forlorn salts was neither human in its grotesque appearance or within its abhorrent nature. All that remained of the precursor that had spawned it was a lamentation for its irreversible mutilation, and a bitter contempt for any naive to the cruelties of the blackened lands.

By my hand, had this pitiful soul been unjustly damned to suffer such devilry for all eternity.

...And my own soul recoiled when I realized the parallel that her fate had pioneered for mine.

...Yet unlike her, I was no longer counted amongst the innocent.

...For like her, I bore no traces of my former humanity…

...And I knew, beyond any past hope for reprieve, that I was damned to be a Devil in this life and the next.

I had finally accepted the sin of humanity's salvation. I had finally submitted myself to our species' desideratum. For just as I had been born into unwilling service, so was I to live and die in such conscripted duty.

My fleeting compassion had dictated its own demise.

Freedom had always been a dream. Freedom was only ever a delusion. Freedom was only ever a pursuit without yield, and here, truth had finally made this predator freedom's prey.

...And with that dreadful revelation…

...In that one, terrible moment…

...The loving, flawed, dreaming, human Theron Halcyon…

...The same man that I had endeavored against every former tribulation to preserve…

...That same weak, pathetic, and solicitous creature...

...Died alongside the first of his innocent victims.

…

The shadows whirled around me in a murky haze, as a facsimile of breath filled my lungs with a fetid reserve. An aching cold, deeper than the flesh could discern and transcribe, pierced me to the marrow of my bones.

All that my eyes could see was hell. All that my ears could hear was the muffled cries of those who'd been swallowed before me.

There was no solace to be found in the Distortion. There was no succor that my eyes could see. There was only unending despair, as the damned rejoiced in their mutilation, and abhorred themselves for such hideous revelry.

I willed Typhon to shutter this expanse of nightmares from our eyes, and my eidolon domicile silenced perdition with a swell of opaque miasma.

All that I had ever loved, all that I had ever cherished…

All that I had ever been, or hoped to have been…

...It had all been stricken from me.

Alone in the dark, I sank deeper into this abyssal realm, numb as I was to all that I was.

But I was not alone for very long.

My dearly beloved knights, my profound and ailing servants, my loyal and treacherous friends…

...Surrounded me in their embraces, to celebrate my suffering.

I knew what they knew, well before my appointed time.

I was what they had been. I had become what they were now.

Just a Ghost wrapped in flesh, a fleeting life awaiting its total dehumanization.

My family waited for me to join them as one; one body; one spirit; one desire…

My dearly beloved wraiths…

...Take my pity and flay me with it. Despite all the gentle intentions of our former selves…

...This is where we have all come to be damned.

One of my companions, one of my tormentors, shepherded me from the ghastly fold; cradled my still corpse in her withered limbs. Within her creaking arms was I stripped bare. Within her splintered maw, was my essence received.

She took me, as a woman doth take a lover; yet it was not the tender embrace of a doppelganger that subjected me to her selfish want of pleasure...

It was the lusting embrace of a revenant, that sought a reprieve from hell in my rape.

But any measure of sadistic fulfillment was denied to her, for I had aught but pity to offer.

I could not stop her, for I did not care. I would not free myself, because I could never be myself.

This flesh is only temporary. This spirit is forever. And in such masochistic apathy, was I damned to suffer eternally.

I had never been so helpless. My chains had never been so patent. Yet so long as this failing body still pulsed with life...

...It would exude a will that had never been so immutable.

...

"I understand your concerns, Justicar Oscarin, but I assure you that you have nothing to fear." A pleasant smile a fixed itself to my face, as the elderly statesman brooded.

"This is a highly controversial case, Lord Halcyon. There is far more at stake than just the integrity of my nation." The High Justicar frowned at me; consigning his verdict prematurely.

"I do not come to Kanto with any intention of threatening your nation's security. I come here solely to escape the controversy of my homeland." I found a sufficiently emotional inflection with which to tug heartstrings, yet my sincerity failed all personal consideration before the deception had even left my person.

"Would you explain to me why you seek asylum? I'm afraid I don't understand the reasoning behind your sudden political polarization. You raised the controversy in Kalos, Lord Halcyon. I'd like to know why you seek to escape it." The High Justicar's voice had elevated in severity, and in the shadow his figure cast, I saw the strings that pulled at his person.

Another puppet of ACE. How fortunate for me.

I sighed before my reply, and leaned towards the Justicar's desk.

"...Kalos stands upon the brink of war, monsieur Oscarin. A war that has long effervesced in the shadows of my home. A war that threatens to destroy the nation I love." I shook my head in weary despair, acting out the emotion for empathy's sake.

"...I may not have incited this war, but I certainly played a part in bringing the revolution to the surface. I advocated a different path for my nation, and those dissatisfied and disenfranchised countryman of mine flocked to my noble House's standards."

A monocled set of heavy eyes measured my person, but so convincing was my act, that even a magistrate as seasoned as Adamus Oscarin failed to detect the obfuscations.

"...Do I regret becoming the face of the Kalosian revolution? Of course not. I stand by my original decision to represent Kalos's downtrodden; to speak in the Royal Court for their behalf; to legislate fairly over my countrymen, regardless of caste; but my sudden ascent to power generated an influx of complications within my nation. A series of complications that not only threaten the stability of the current regime, but also endangers the continuity of our next regime…" I fell back into the cushions of my chair with a shuddering sigh of grief.

"...Too quickly did I rise. Too sudden was my ascent. Too powerfully was my message received. What I have endeavored to restore is not entirely what my nation supports. Kalos still cries out for vengeful bloodshed, while I have bled only for peace…" I closed my eyes in a facade of lament, yet still I remained undetected.

"...How does one proceed in a different direction without forfeiting momentum? How does one change the course of activism without spreading further dissension? How does one avert war without firing a shot?" A quiet sigh accompanied my admission, as I opened my eyes with deliberate slowness.

"...Sweet Kalos, whatever have I done to you?"

Not even Princess Diantha could achieve the conviction aroused by my theatrical display.

"My quandary is this, High Justicar: Kalos needs time to ease into the transition, before we recklessly plunge into a catastrophe that will only breed more resentment. To that end, I have elected to take a sabbatical from Kalos's public politics." I stated such with this conclave's first true vocalization of sovereignty. I sat proudly upon my host's accommodation; fierce in my demeanor; decisive in my expression.

"I understand your dilemma, Lord Halcyon, but you must remain conscious of ours. War and death follows you wherever you go. Your solution is commendable, but your departure from Kalos threatens to bring its civil war into Kanto. We have an expansive demography of Kalosian descent in our population. There is Kalosian nationalism within Kanto's borders. And should King Arturia suspect collusion between yourself and the government of Kanto-"

"-Cease these pretentious deliberations, and just heed the leash that owns you, Justicar." I leaned over the desk with an aggressive reflex, a cruel smile festooning my gloating face.

The time for illusions had past. The master of Adamus Oscarin had just finalized his decision.

The sudden transition in my mannerisms shocked and frightened the High Justicar. The growing presence of my shades invigorated his rising panic.

"Tell your master that I will of course adhere to his desire for anonymity. Truthfully, I wouldn't have had it any other way. Also extend my gratitude for his considerable generosity. The assistance of his agency is more than a sufficient remittance to purchase my confidence." I graced the Justicar with a knowing smirk, and the elderly man paled at my words.

"...Did you truly doubt my claim of visions, Justicar? Did you think me a charlatan; incapable of clairvoyance?" I grinned at his sweating form.

"Well, should you still doubt… then seize revelation in answering that phone call." I whispered to the silent office.

"...What phone call-?" Adamus Oscarin began on a nervous note, but a sudden ring from the corner of his desk cut the Justicar off with a start.

"...That phone call." I grinned, as Adamus Oscarin's terrified eyes fell upon his office appliance with trepidation.

"Answer it." I ordered with a chuckle, as the untended phone rang on and on.

Reluctantly handling his innocuous appliance as though it were a snake, Adamus Oscarin heeded my command, and married the phone's transceiver to his ear.

There was no deliberation. High Justicar Oscarin wasn't even permitted a say. The transmission ended in a matter of seconds. Returning the phone to its cradle with a shaking hand, Adamus Oscarin drew a leather bound pamphlet from his desk.

"Good dog." I cackled, as the Justicar signed an anonymous waiver of immunity.

"...You will abide by my nation's laws, and you will respect the terms of your agreement." The High Justicar attempted to reclaim some measure of his office's dignity; attempted to reclaim some measure of his morality; yet all that he could muster in contest to me was laid to waste with an explosion of cruel laughter.

"Some parting advice, High Justicar… A Prophet's recommendation for _you…_ " My laughter faded, but my wicked smirk grew in its stead.

"...Take a holiday. Seek fulfilment as quickly as you can. Live as though you are fated to die the very next moment…" I snickered out the last, and claimed my waiver from the High Justicar's desk.

"...You never know how brief life is, until you reach the end of it. Take it from one who knows." I grinned at the ruined statesman before I abandoned him, empowering those awful words with the only sentiments I was capable of anymore.

Cruelty comprised my entire persona. Remorse was the axis of my being.

I had become a Ghost.

And I could no longer summon up the humanity required to deny it.

 **... .-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.**

"...So you actually see a different world with those eyes?"

"Yes."

"...Is it always...?"

"...Yes."

"So you look at a sunset and you see-?"

"There is no sun to be seen with these eyes. There is not beauty to behold, there is not defined manifestation. There is only truth. There is only the patterns of time."

"...And when you look at me-?"

"Your death will not be dignified nor expected. I am... very sorry."

"How can I change it?! Tell me!"

"Heh…"

"..."

"You can't. You will die. There is no escaping that."

"But how I die-"

"This world is about to change."

"..."

"...And the new world that looms upon the horizon does not apportion peaceful death to the masses. Humanity is soon to be denied that luxury."

"...What if you're wrong?"

"...If only I was…"

"...You can't claim to know the future! That's bullshit! Nothing is set in stone-!"

"Heh!"

"..."

"If you only knew… If I had but the time required to impart every hidden machination to you…"

"..."

"...Then you wouldn't need cursed eyes to see the doom rising in our future. These eyes have only guided me to such divination. They are not instruments of mysticism."

"...And your vision of the Kings?"

"The Kings are tied to every fate that I behold. They influence a paramount event that affects every life mine eyes have gleaned. I only know of the Kings because they are _agents of a universal fate._ "

"...And you're one of the Kings?"

"...I believe so."

"...And Zane is the other?"

"...One of them, I assume."

" _-One of them?!"_

"Yes. One of the Three."

"There's _three_ Kings?!"

"Oh, there are many more Kings of lesser degrees. Countless Kings who command more than their own avenues of fate. But there are only Three Kings whose sovereignty presides over the fates of all."

"...So who is the Third King?"

"I do not yet know."

"Then who do you think it is?"

"That particular individual has not revealed their potential yet. I will not recognize the Third King until he or she fulfills the prerequisites of such a monumental function."

"...And you don't even know if you're one of the Kings?"

"It is not a predestined role. Contrary to the orthodox diction, one is not born a King. One assumes that station through proper action. And my actions have placed innumerable lives beneath my jurisdiction."

"..."

"...And should the worst come to pass… Then by my actions, will I decide the fate of every soul that clambers across the earth."

"And the myth of the Aegislash-?"

"Is neither myth nor mysticism. It is merely a pitiful soul offering guidance to one of kindred fate."

"..."

"..."

"...And what ties the Three Kings together? What distinguishes them from one another?"

"Three crowns. Three drakes. One throne."

"..."

"The First King, who dons the Crown of Sorrow, the victim of his own ascension, will bring ruin to the lives of men, yet beneath his rule will their sordid endurance be assured. The Predominant Drake is his steed, and from its mighty wings, will he reluctantly govern all life and death."

"..."

"The Second King, who dons the Crown of Madness, the victim of his own doubts, will enslave the will of men, and their enumerated lives shall be spent in unending warfare. The Unconquered Drake is his steed, and from its mighty wings, will he mindlessly govern all life and death.

"..."

"The Third King, who dons the Crown of Death, the victim of his own yearnings, will abandon the kinship of men, and cull their numbers unto the security of scarcity. The Valorous Drake is his steed, and from its mighty wings, will he stolidly govern all life and death."

"..."

"...In the Cradle of Worlds, will the Three Kings meet each other in contest for the throne of their origin, and when one King triumphs over the rest, the fate of his world shall be decided by his succession."

"..."

"..."

"...So those are the Three Kings?"

"Those are the crowns that the three will inherit."

"...And the Cradle of Worlds?"

"A battlefield, I would presume."

"And the three Drakes?"

"Every one of the Three Kings' conquest pivots heavily upon a particular servant of theirs. Each King bears a Drake of unnatural power."

"...And each Drake is different?"

"...Just as the crowns that the three Kings will inherit are all different."

"The King of Sorrow, the King of Madness, and the King of Death?"

"...Each a purveyor of misfortune and discontent, wouldn't you say?"

"...So which King are you?"

"...I do not know."

"...Then which crown would you hope to inherit?"

"The Crown of Sorrow, naturally."

"Well, you meet the criteria-"

"As does Zane."

"..."

"...Peculiar, is it not? Both Zane and I, suited for every one of the crowns? For are we not both slaves of sorrow? Are we not both architects of madness? Are we not both proponents of butchery?"

"..."

"Even when one considers the distinguishing traits of the Drakes, both Zane and I still stand to inherit any one of the three crowns. We are both regarded as the most powerful. We both remain undefeated. And we are both considered valorous."

"..."

"..."

"...And what if you're the King of Death?"

"...Then it would be a kinder fate to me than inheriting the Crown of Madness."

"So no matter how you spin it, humanity as a whole loses?"

"I clarified that the changed world was a cruel one, did I not?"

"What if we stopped the Kings-?"

"You can't."

"Why not?!"

"Because the Kings are not sovereigns of fate itself per se. They are arbiters of causality. The Crowned Kings are not merely people. Their crowns represent choices. Regardless of who obtains a station, they will face the same event that presents those same choices; and that event is inescapable."

"...But maybe you're misinterpreting the vision... What if there is only one King, and three crowns?"

"Have you forgotten the contested throne in the Cradle of Worlds? Or the Three Drakes? Each King relies on a different Drake to establish his dominance. A different Drake for a different Crown."

"...So your Drake is Grigori?"

"I would never have betrayed Allan Arturia or successfully channeled Typhon without my beloved Warden. Grigori did not merely aid in establishing my dominance; Grigori made it possible."

"But Zane doesn't have-"

"He has three."

"-?"

"Darwin, Cortez, and Ramses. Each is a pseudodragon."

"Those count?"

"...For all I know, _Drake_ could just be a pseudonym for _Monster_. Dragons, pseudodragons, ghosts, or symbiotes; it could make no difference whatsoever."

"But if Zane has three-"

"Zane relied heavily upon Darwin to secure his preeminence. Was it Cortez or Ramses that slew Articuno? Could either one of them even aspire to such magnificence?"

"...This is impossible to figure out..."

"And that is precisely why I have ceased devoting my efforts to discerning each crown's function and its King's identity. There is only one goal that I will commit myself to now."

"And what goal is that?"

"...Irregardless of whether it is myself or another…"

"..."

"...I will do everything in my power to insure that the King of Sorrow takes the throne."

"And your upcoming Semi-final match with Zane-?"

"Serves as only the first peal of thunder resounding from the coming storm. It is nothing more than the skirmish before the onset of total war."

"..."

"..."

"...He suffered heavy casualties in the third-quota stage, while your wraiths are as fresh as they were when you first began the Victory Road Trial. Zane is at a severe disadvantage."

"I will amend this."

"...You really do care about him, don't you?"

"Zane… Is one of only two people that I would ever call family. Would you strike your family while they are feeble and weeping amongst their own spilt blood?"

"..."

"..."

"...I just wanted to clarify something, in regards to you and Zane…"

"Of course."

"...When you first met Zane in Viridian, you didn't know that he was a potential King?"

"At that point, all I knew of Zane was that he served as a tragic puppet of ACE. When I first looked into his eyes, all I could see was uncertainty, anger, grief, hatred, arrogance and despair."

"..."

"...And when you look into his eyes now, what do you see?"

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"...An alternative."

 _ **FUTURE CONSIDERATION:**_

Given their incredible level of malice, portraying the Ghosts as distinct characters is going to be quite difficult. Therefore, I've elected to have each Ghost torture Theron in a distinct and intimate way. Arguably the ideal recourse (that I can think of, at any rate) of preserving their devilish natures while revealing a tease of their old humanity is to portray each wraith's personality as a proxy of Theron's own persona.

Pariah represents Theron's integrity; emulating Theron's chivalrous virtues to the letter. A noble Ghost for a haunted knight; a symbol of strength for all the times that Theron doubts. A constant reminder that not even the honorable can escape the Distortion.

Thanatos represents Theron's loneliness. Like Theron, Thanatos is prone to reflection and solitude, always a little distant from Theron and his Ghosts, yet close to Theron all the same because of their mutual sentimentality. As the Ghost that Theron identifies the most with, Thanatos proves that even the kind of heart can be damned.

Demeter represents Theron's desire to be loved. Like Theron, Demeter craves human company and attention. Theron reciprocates Demeter's affections to a certain degree, favoring her motherly ministrations, and occasionally returning her flirtatious advances. Theron understands Demeter's desire to be loved, though try as hard as he might, Theron cannot truly bring himself to love a Ghost; a painful reminder of the solitude that awaits Theron in death.

Exodus represents Theron's fear. More than any other wraith in Theron's service, Exodus seems to take to his role as a Devil. Whereas most every other phantom embodies a certain lamentation for their mutilation; Exodus seems to celebrate it. Of all his Knights, Exodus is the only Ghost that Theron truly hates; a hatred that is deepened profusely whenever Theron realizes just how similar he is to Exodus in both his mockery and cruelty.

Typhon represents Theron's dignity, independence, and rage. Typhon is the closest analogue of a spirit unbeholden to the Distortion; but even if Typhon can escape the rules and the realm that twisted him; the wraith cannot undo what it did to him. Typhon reinforces Theron's sentiment of helplessness by showing Theron that no matter how powerful he becomes, Theron will never be able to escape his fate.

So in a manner of speaking… Theron isn't only losing his humanity in channeling these wraiths. He's also becoming an amalgamation of all their personalities. Might be important to keep "Angry Theron" out of the story until after he's channeled Typhon. But fuckit decisions have been made in the past, so…


	3. TSoK, Book 3: Prologue

.

Only one will be King. The lost sons of man now compete for a throne. Zane Bastard of the Rangers seeks to lead humanity into a golden era, where the Pokemon threat no longer impedes mankind's advancement. As for Theron of House Halcyon...

...The Devil of Kalos foresees a different era looming on the horizon.

The Saga of Kings concludes. The Hero. The Prophet. This is their story…

 **.**

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 **The Saga of Kings, Book III: Succession**

 _Written by,_

 **Vile M.F. Slanders**

 **.\\./.\\./.\\./.\\./.\\./. .\\./.\\./.\\./.\\./.\\./. .\\./.\\./.\\./.\\./.\\./.**

 ***T...T...T...T* *T...T...T...T* *T...T...T...T***

 **I-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-I I-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-I I-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-I**

 **\\_v_v_v_/ _ \\_v_v_v_/ _ \\_v_v_v_/**

 **\\-.-.**.-.-/ ._. \\-.-.**.-.-/ ._. \\-.-.**.-.-/**

 **V-._.-V _..._ V-._.-V _..._ V-._.-V**

 **\\.^./ _-_._-_ \\.^./ _-_._-_ \\.^./**

 **V** **-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-** **V** **-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-** **V**

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" _ **...There is one race of men, one race of gods; and from a single mother we both draw our breath. But all allotted power divides us: man is nothing, but for the gods the bronze sky endures as a secure home forever. Nevertheless, we bear some resemblance to the immortals, either in greatness of mind or in nature, although we do not know, by day or by night, towards what goal fortune has written that we should run…"**_

 _-Pindar, Born 518 BC, died 438 BC. Excerpt taken from Epinikion: Nemean VI, "For Alcimidas of Aegina Boys' Wrestling."_

 **-v-**

 **Prologue: The Third King**

"Feed."

"His vitals are still erratic! We can't operate until we've figured out what qualifies as stable!"

"Feed."

"Listen to me! There's no telling what that _thing_ is doing to him! The mutations arising from the point of injection are projecting malignant protein structures across the board!"

"Feed."

"Yes, we removed the zygote! Or what was left of it! The zygote started to assimilate with his cells the instant it defrosted within his cervical cord!"

"Feed."

"We've sent samples to the lab for analysis! Preliminary observations suggests a seventy-four percent RNA compatibility ratio! If the mutations don't outright kill him, then the resulting cancer will!"

"Feed."

"No. The zygote is unsalvageable. His DNA has irreparably tainted the culture. If he was trying to destroy it, then he most certainly succeeded-"

"Feed."

"-Director! I can't possibly begin an operation with a prayer of success if I can't identify what I'm operating on!"

"Feed."

"You have no idea! The area around the point of injection is in a state of evolutionary flux! He has a foreign digestive tract growing into his carotid artery!"

"Feed."

"Yes, I can remove it! But we don't know if that organ structure is essential for future mutations! The proteins are completely out of whack! His cells are randomly producing cancerous tissues for completely uncorrelated complex organ systems!"

"Feed."

"Director, it's going to be a miracle if a laminoplasty can save him, but you're asking me to perform a lobotomy _beforehand?!"_

"Feed."

"Yes, I know what he is now! I know what the mutations are doing to him! That's why-!?"

"Doctor Tiller! Doctor Tiller, he's regaining consciousness!"

"-Alright, I understand! He just woke up! I have to operate _now_ , Director! The technicians will setup a live stream for you! I have to hang up _now!"_

"Feed."

"He just opened his eyes! Pupils are dilating when exposed to light! His ocular reflexes are still functional."

"Can he speak?"

"Feed."

"He's barely coherent-"

" _...The preacher hollered from his pulpit, spewing a dogmatic froth of venom and retribution to the congregation before him. A boy sat between his mother and his father in the first row of pews, this same boy was both enamored and terrified by the preacher's searing sermon. The mother glanced down at her wide-eyed and quaking child, before a glow of pride rose within her eyes. Her son had been born into the faith, and by her maternal guidance, he would live by it. But the mother's pride in her child was misplaced. A zealot's arrogance had blinded the mother to the reason behind her son's fear. For it was neither the uplifting words of rapture nor the dire promise of perdition that had filled her son with emotion, but rather: it was the hate-filled monster on the pulpit that had inspired the child with horror..."_

"Feed."

"Doctor Tiller, are we really going to-?"

"Yes. Prep the patient for a cerebral operation. We're putting the laminoplasty on the back burner for now."

"Feed."

" _...The boy ran through the heavy foliage, tears streaming down his face. They were fighting again. He had woken up to the sounds of them screaming at one another. He had laid curled within his bed, quietly sobbing. Praying that they would stop arguing and just love each other again. But then he heard mommy shriek, and the sound of daddy's hand hitting her across the face. Abandoning his rough sheets, the boy ran from his bedroom. He ran away from the fighting. He ran away from the screaming. He ran away from the hitting._

 _He ran away from his home._

 _Falling into the wet and cold grass, the boy huddled against the moist earth and wept. He wept for his mommy. He wept for his daddy. He wept for himself, and then he wept some more. And just when the boy felt as if he couldn't cry anymore…_

 _...Darmy found the boy._

 _Warm and red. Furry and round. Darmy pushed himself into the boy's arms, and nestled himself below the boy's chin. Curling in around Darmy, the boy pressed his wet eyes into Darmy's hot and bristly fur. Softly chirruping from the boy's hold, Darmy placed three rough fingers across the boy's trembling lip._

 _No more crying, Darmy said. The boy's throat tightened as he repressed his grief, even while the sounds of his parents' fighting rose from recent memories to torture him. But Darmy was here, and Darmy would take care of the boy._

 _...Just like Darmy always had…"_

"He's succumbing to a seizure! Fasten the restraints! He's going to hurt himself!"

"I'm prepping the anesthetic now-!"

"No! No anesthetic!"

"Doctor Tiller! You can't be serious-!"

"Feed."

"I'm deathly serious. The rampant mutations are evolving in accordance to his natural biochemistry! If we introduce an anesthetic, it will alter his biochemistry! We have to proceed dry! Otherwise, there's no telling what manner of mutations will arise from exposure to an anesthetic!"

"Feed."

" _Daddy told the boy that he loved him. It was with a quiet voice. It was with a guilty voice. The boy pushed his sundae away, and looked at his father with watering eyes._

 _Do you love mommy too? The boy asked. Daddy tensed, but quickly answered._

 _Yes, daddy loves mommy too. The boy sat back in his booth and swallowed. Something didn't seem right about daddy. Daddy looked so tired. Daddy looked so old._

 _Daddy looked so hurt._

 _The boy told daddy that he loved him, and that he loved mommy too. Then Darmy pushed his way into the boy's lap with an indignant squawk, and Daddy chuckled silently._

 _Yes, daddy loves Darmy too. The boy squeezed his Darmy fondly, and the red ball of fur chirruped happily. Daddy began to laugh._

 _Darmy loved the boy, and daddy found it funny. This made the boy laugh, and soon both daddy and the boy were cackling._

 _Darmy makes everything better, the boy said._

 _Yes. Daddy said._

 _Yes, Darmy does…"_

"Feed."

"The surgical area has been shaved and sterilized. Cranial blood vessels have been located and marked. Awaiting your first incision, Doctor Tiller."

"Feed."

" _...The boy stood on the sidewalk alone. Mommy said that he wasn't coming back, and she had screamed at the boy when she had last caught him waiting on the sidewalk yesterday. But the boy didn't care, because mommy was wrong._

 _Daddy would come back. He was just busy at work. He would come back. Daddy would always come back, because that's what daddies did._

 _Daddy would come back to them…"_

"Okay, start the clock and standby with suction. I'm making the first incision now."

"Feed."

" _...Why did it all hurt so much?"_

…

I don't know why I'm writing this. It will never be printed. Hell, if I even tried to publish this, then I'd get ganked by an ACE Whitetail right in front of my potential editor.

So why am I writing this?

-Hell if I know.

But I just… I feel…

...Conflicted…

...Which isn't a sensation that I customarily feel when embarking on a new project. And I've worked on plenty of highly controversial developments before without hesitation or reflection, so a "conflicted" sentiment qualifies as unusual to me.

I know that this particular project is weightier than anything I've ever worked on prior, and I know that my predecessors nearly wound up dead as a result of their failure, but still…

...That's never stopped me before.

Maybe it was that week I spent with Zane Bastard. Quite a few of the discussions we exchanged during that time frame registered on some pretty personal levels.

Maybe it was that chat I had with Theron Halcyon. All I wanted to do was petition him for a chance to research his Aegislash, but that googly-eyed sumbitch seems to have an innate disposition towards making every Goddamn thing personal.

Maybe it was that spazzy interviewer, and her whole shitstorm about me not having a story…

Maybe I'm just having my midlife crisis a decade early. Who knows? Either way, consider this my autobiography. Which is kinda funny in itself…

...Because I really don't like talking about myself.

And with that awkward self-reflection addressed, let's start this off with the boring details.

I was born in Kanto's Vermilion City to the daughter of two Sinnohian immigrants and a recently naturalized Unovian father. This was back in 1489, mind you: so the Indigo Confederacy was practically my fraternal twin. Our family lived in Vermilion's Civilian Sector, right over in the Immigrant's Quarter.

I hear that the Immigrant's Quarter isn't so bad anymore; but Vermilion's civil reformation advocate, good ol' Lieutenant Jackie Surge, was still being tortured in a Johtonese detention facility back in my early childhood: so my memories of Vermilion's Immigrant's Quarter pretty much define it as a slum.

That said, it was home. For me, my dysfunctional parents, and my little Darmy…

...Darmy. Heh. Dad's birthday gift for the five-year old me. Trust a five year old to conceive of such an original name for a runt of a Darumaka…

...Gawddamn, I miss him…

...Sorry 'bout that. I miss all of them. Even mom… even dad.

Sob story made short, my parents didn't get hitched because they loved each other. They only put rings on one another's fingers because they were young and dumb, and my dad knocked my mom up with me on their very first date.

Yep. A traditionally romantic start for the traditionally unromantic family.

Whoa, I actually feel like shit for selling it off like that…

-I guess I can't make everything sound funny, can I?

...Why the hell am I even writing this?

Well, fuck it. If I'm gonna do this, then I'm gonna do it right. So here's to round two.

My mom and dad did not get along, and that should've been obvious to the both of them at their first encounter. Mom was a hardcore hierophant and dad was a bloody heathen. Mom worshipped Palkia as if that freaky mon was the only God there ever was, while dad could only bring himself to worshipped the God of grapes. Actually, dad worshipped the God of barley. I never once saw my dad touch wine, but he sure as hell loved his whiskies.

I rarely imbibe alcohol myself, and you've probably already figured out why.

As well as being destitute for most of my life, I also received first hand examples on how _not_ to deal with your issues. The two greatest lessons that my parents taught me clearly states the following:

One: You can't kick a gambling addiction by drowning yourself in booze.

Two: You can't rely on the Gods for shit.

Thanks dad. Thanks mom. You both miraculously managed to fulfill your parenting obligations by providing your son with a pair of model human beings that should never be emulated. And I still love you for it. I hope that you're both resting in peace, 'cause neither of you ever seemed to give peace a chance in life. I barely know what peace is myself, but even so, I know that our family would have liked it.

My early life's highlights? Hmm… Let's see here…

Well, my dad left home when I was eight. And he never came back. I was pretty sore about it for a couple of years, but I got over it when I turned fourteen.

At fourteen, my mother died of pneumonia, and I adjusted my emotional priorities accordingly.

Yep, orphaned at fourteen. Sucked to be me. The last words I said to my mother were "fuck you," and the last words that I heard from my father were "I'll be back at seven. Have a good day."

Yeah, I stormed out on my mother in an prepubescent tantrum about a week before her lungs filled with fluid. I lived off the streets for that week, avoiding the fuzz and filching dumpsters for my shelter and grub. When I finally caught wind of my mother's condition, I put aside the self-righteous anger and rushed for home. But all that was waiting for me was an empty house and her filled grave. I still regret that I wasn't there for mom in her final moments. Sometimes I wonder if my mother could have avoided the sickness altogether if I had been there to suffer the cold with her…

...And I know that I will go to my own grave, lamenting the tasteless words that constituted as my goodbye to the woman who bore me unto this earth.

So to elaborate: I didn't really get along with my mother on the whole religion front, and the most powerful memories that I have of my old man were of him yelling at my mom. But mom selflessly nurtured the crazy me into adolescence, and dad was my buddy when we both managed to escape the nag, so…

...I can still dig up something worth loving the both of them for.

Anyways, fourteen years old. As soon as my mother had been laid within the ground, the bank took away my family home in order to pay off dad's gambling debts; mom's family just upped and moved back to Sinnoh without their heathen grandson; and the Military's recruiter laughed his ass off when the scrawny adolescent me tried his luck at making the soldier's cut.

No money, no home, no family, and no foreseeable future.

Just an addled teenager and his beloved Darmy.

We had nothing to look forward to, and nothing to hold us back.

So I fudged the date of birth on my identification, illegitimately snagged a Novice Trainer's Licence at fourteen, and headed out into the grey yonder without a clue as to what I was gonna do, or why I was doing it.

But when I sorted it all out, it all came together. All nice and chaotic like.

I wasn't always an overnight success story. Before I made gold in the League's hierarchy and cobbled together my first official lab, there were plenty of nights where both Darmy and I went to bed hungry. Losing a Pokemon battle results in a loss of money, and if you ain't got much money in the bank, then two or three losses can render your next supply trip into town pointless.

...But there were the nights where both Darmy and I gorged like Kings, after we'd spent the spoils of our victories on an excess of creature comforts.

Those were the days. I was so caught up in the daily struggle that I didn't notice how awful my life really was. But as I invested myself into the League's competition scene for want of a hot meal and a dry bed, I began to realize that certain mental disciplines of mine could give me an edge over my opponents. And as I honed that edge, I became all the more proficient at procuring a steady diet.

Was it a difficult life? You had better believe it. But early on, it was all worth it. It gave Darmy and I an escape from our shared sordid history.

It almost feels unreal, looking back at it all. It almost feels profane, sleeping in a house with a roof.

It feels absolutely wrong to dine on aged Mamoswine shanks as though they're considered casual fare.

So when I realized that I was beginning to take the high-life for granted, I knew that I was stepping down the wrong path. There are plenty of people in the world who are currently living just like I did.

And after having lived at the bottom for so long, I can't justify all the excessive indulgences for myself, when I know that others are suffering from a lack of need.

...Wow.

I didn't expect that I'd actually take this seriously, but I might have just explained something to myself by writing this. Huh…

...Maybe that's why writing this…

...Maybe I can find the answers that I'm looking for by writing this…

It's crazy, you know? This big project that I'm working on? When it comes to scientific development, I'm no stranger to the connotations of the word "Latchkey". I've been bending the rules of nature and overstepping the boundaries of ethical progress ever since I undertook my post-Analyst career. But this project…

This one project…

...This could change the entire world for all time to come.

I'm a humble man by nature, contrary to my reputation, so this isn't some some self-glorifying decree that I'm spouting. This is a scientist's objective observation of action and reaction. An impartial breakdown and prediction of cause and effect.

Maybe every man who stood at the border of a new dawn felt this trepidation. Maybe every pioneer first viewed their new worlds with a mix of hope and dread. Maybe every agent of change feared the outcome of their revolution…

...I mean, we're only human.

And every pioneer of humanity must have asked himself: If his new world of his was gonna bring mankind into the province of Gods.

Man and Gods just don't mix. We never have, and we never will. Look at the history books. Analyze the numerous scriptures of the countless religions that mankind has engineered throughout the ages. Wherever mankind has met the divine, man was unjustly subjugated and culled in the name of an intangible entity. But you can't blame the Gods for that. I mean: man created the concept of an omnipotent identity, so technically, man is to blame for the cruelty of the Gods.

But this project that I'm heading…

...This… new world…

...Is taking mankind closer to the Gods than we've ever been before.

Is mankind really prepared to create a true God? Are we ready to meet a _tangible_ omnipotent identity?

My euphoric heart says that we are…

...But my rational brain knows better.

So why am I writing this? Why do I believe that the desired answer lies somewhere within this obscure path of self discovery? How could this personal record possibly bring me to such a weighty enlightenment?

...Well, I guess it's because... when faced with the absence of palpable Gods, I find myself turning towards humanity for guidance.

My name is Enzo Davinci, and this…

...This is my story.


	4. TSoK: The Sins of My Father

**.**

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 **The Saga of Kings, The Sins of My Father**

 _Written by,_

 **Vile M.F. Slanders**

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"MELISSA!" My indoor voice was cast aside as my outdoor voice took the reins.

"WHAT?!" My beautiful blossom shouted right back at me, well before she'd even entered the hallway.

I was perfectly silent as I awaited the explanation for _this_ to assume her position at my frothing side.

"...What the hell is _this?"_ I growled in a baritone, as the scaly flowerpot returned to mauling my pillow with a gusto. Melissa didn't answer me.

"...I thought we had an agreement, _wife…_ " I hissed.

"We did." Melissa spat right back.

"...I agreed to leave my work at work, if you would agree to leave _your work_ at work." I growled.

"Well, it looks like we both violated the agreement." Melissa miffed at me.

"...Why is this piece of shit Bulbasaur tearing up my bedsheets?" I whispered in my danger voice.

"Why is the daughter of Theron Halcyon sitting on my couch?" Melissa countered, no less pissed.

"I have my _reasons_." I bore down on my wife with a shaking fury.

 _-And the look in her eyes had me backpedaling into the doorframe not two seconds later._

"...As do I, _Zane_." Melissa hissed to my humbled figure. I couldn't win against this woman.

I never could.

So I redirected my ire on the culprit responsible for my pillow's molestation.

"Spud, get the fuck off my bed!" I shouted my head off at that shit-fucked Bulbasaur, and that green little puke didn't even bat an eye.

"...Vauban, stop chewing up the linens." Melissa ordered in a cool voice.

My head just about popped off my shoulders when every muscle in my neck clenched up iron-tight.

Melissa dared to meet my bewildered and outraged glare, but her eyes weren't quite so scary anymore.

Those beautiful blue eyes of hers had softened up ever so slightly.

The Bulbasaur instantly complied with Melissa's directive, and with a couple of gimpy steps and one ginger leap to the floorboards later, that Bulbasaur was standing right at Melissa's toes, looking up at my wife with the happiest little dinosaur face you ever did see.

"...Why is _it_ called _Vauban?"_ I hissed out from between my chattering teeth. Melissa reached down and lifted the wounded Bulbasaur into the cradle of her arms, and held that terrible little monster protectively against her breast.

"...Maybe because the most famous hero in the modern age once had a Venasaur named Vauban?" Melissa replied in a cautious voice.

" _Who named it?!"_ My voice was barely audible over the rumble of my larynx.

"...Some impressionable trainer, who picked a shitty role model." Melissa growled right back to me at my most ragged state.

...How fucking _dare-_

"...It's not Vauban's fault that she's named after _your_ Vauban, Zane." Melissa whispered in an undertone, covering the Bulbasaur's eyes with a wary hand.

And those carefully elocuted words of hers brought it all back.

I couldn't even see Melissa's face through the tears in my functioning eye.

...Every wound I'd ever suffered had scarred. Every wound had found the time and means to mend. Every single one of my old war-wounds, except for _one…_

That _one_ …

Oh, that _one_...

 _...I would never get over the memory of watching my daughter die in the most inhumane-_

I fell back against the wall, choking on my own closing throat.

Melissa didn't say a word. Melissa didn't lift a finger to comfort me.

-She knew better than that.

I was all alone again, looking into her terrified eyes, promising her it was gonna be okay-

 _...Mere moments before he cut her head off._

Melissa let me have my time in hell to grieve. When I had come out of it enough to realize that I wasn't eighteen and helpless anymore, my wife had put aside that clueless green bump of shit, and had started to straighten out the collar of my coat with her emancipated digits.

"...Come on, Zane. It's over, soldier. It all ended a long time ago..."

-No, it didn't.

I was still there, screaming my head off in horror and disbelief, as my daughter's headless corpse thrashed out a grisly mockery of the rigors of life…

"Zane. I need you to come back to me. I need you to come out of it."

My face was buried into Melissa shoulder, and I was weeping against her like a wounded child. My arms took a firm hold of my beloved wife, and my panting breaths told of my struggle to comprehend her presence in this horrid place.

When I finally returned to the present day, I more or less returned as the present me.

A little more shaken than normal. A little more wet around the eyes. But I was still me.

And if you know anything about the normal me…

...You'd know that I'm normally pissed as all fuck.

"Get this piece of shit Bulbasaur out of my fucking house, _now._ " I growled to Melissa, less than a minute after my recovery.

Melissa responded by collecting my tattered, toxic-saliva coated pillow, and firmly planted it against my chest.

"Better idea: How about you get out of my fucking bedroom, you piece of shit Greenback."

-There was a reason for why Melissa and I had gotten hitched, but for the life of me, I couldn't quite remember that reason right now.

"-Excuse me?" My voice was rife with disdain, while Melissa busied herself with stripping down the ruined bedsheets.

"Anastasia is sleeping on the couch, so you're not sleeping in the living room, and Vauban and I are sleeping in the bedroom, so there's no room for you in here." Melissa stated it all a-matter-of-factly, with only a minor hint of impatience betrayed in her tone.

"-Are you telling me to get a hotel room, after I've been to Kalos and back again?" I hissed to my unconcerned wife, and all she did was shrug at me.

"You can bed down with Cortez in the backyard. I'm sure that Hooch McGruff can tolerate your bullshit attitude better than anyone else in this household can. Now get the fuck out."

Melissa had laid down the law, and dumber than shit I may be…

...Even I knew better than to argue with this woman.

"You cold-hearted cunt. Why in the name of all that's sane did I put a ring on your finger?" I breathed out in utter bewilderment.

"Because you're a sucker for punishment. The backdoor is eight paces towards the kitchen, followed by a hard left. Now get the hell out of here." Melissa hissed.

-Now I remembered why I had married her.

"I love you. You know that, right?" A ridiculously goofy smile split my face into besotted halves.

"Duly noted. Now choke on shit and die." Melissa grumbled.

And with that touching farewell, I chuckled myself out into the hallway.

"...Home, sweet home." I smiled at no one and nothing in particular.

"God, I love that woman." I swore, as I headed my laughing ass off towards the kitchen for want of a cold beer.

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"When was the last time you and I danced together?" I asked Melissa as I led her out to ballroom's center floor.

"Hoenn's Ninth Legion Military Ball, six years ago." Melissa answered softly.

"Oh, I remember that now." A fond smile rose my cheeks as I met Melissa's splayed arms with mine.

"Do you really?" Melissa asked in shock.

"I may have been drunk half the time, but I'd never forget about you trying to waltz while suffering from food poisoning" I teased, sweeping my graceful Melissa out on our sole conjoined limbs, before pulling her back against my frame with a gentle tug and step.

"...I remember you stumbling all over my toes." Melissa grumbled, but her smile was no less nostalgic than mine.

"You walked it off the next day. After you'd ridden my ass into the ground for it." I was trying not to laugh, and Melissa was struggle just as hard as I was to keep the giggles repressed.

"...I swore that I'd never dance with you again." Melissa murmured in a sadden tone.

"And I swore that I'd never sober up again, but look at us now." I teased, as I took Melissa by her waist, and arched with her descending spine, until both our torsos were parallel with the floor.

"You finally stopped drinking so much." Melissa softened up, and I lifted her loose body into a lofty poise.

"Only because you never stopped chewing me out." The smiles we wore may have belonged to the youthful faces of our halcyon days, but here and now, both Melissa and I could look back on our union of unending conflict with joy.

"Where did we go wrong, Zane?" Melissa tittered as the ballad changed its tune.

"When I asked _will you,_ and you said _yes_." I chuckled. My face was beginning to hurt, I was smiling so hard.

"Well, everyone has to be young and dumb once in their lives." Melissa smile regressed slightly, and I felt my own face relax.

I knew that I wanted to grow old and die with this woman. And I knew that she wanted nothing less than the same.

For all the trauma we'd put each other through in the years that had followed the Second Brink Collapse…

...We still loved one another as much as we had when had first sworn ourselves to the other.

"You are the single most unromantic fool that a woman could ever ask for." Melissa whispered.

"And you're the tightest noose that a self-destructive masochist could ever dream of." I replied in that same husky whisper.

Some would call us dysfunctional. And neither one of us would disagree.

But that's exactly what we wanted.

And that's exactly what we gave each other.

"...This song is too fast for me." Melissa grumbled. I shook with a suppressed chuckle, and guided my beloved wife off the ballroom floor and over towards our private table.

I could take a hint.

Melissa had trained me that well at least.

"You bowl over any foreign delegates, pooch?" I grunted to Cortez. My woolly mountain of a hound lifted himself upon all four of his mammoth paws when he heard the indolent sound of my voice.

"What about you, kid? How many staring contests have you won?" I turned my teasing attentions onto Anastasia, who despite her courtly elegance, was doing everything she could to avoid attention.

"There's no need for such petty competitions, Monsieur Bastard." Anastasia murmured in a nervous voice.

"What are you talking about? You could beat anyone in a staring contest with them googly eyes of yours. Hell, that petty competition was one of Ther-"

Melissa drove her pointed heel into my foot, cutting me off before I could so much as say his name.

And I didn't even wince.

"You know that I don't give a fuck about what all these Kalosian snobs think of him, Melissa." I grumbled to my wife, and her right hand crushed the scarred remains of my left. It took me a moment to realize why Melissa was pushing so hard to shut me up about a topic that she knew I'd never back down from. But then Melissa's pointed stare and inclined head directed at Anastasia's chair shut me up tight.

The kid was fiddling with her hair again, and her eyes were staring dead at the floor.

"Well, um… Anyone try the horderves yet?" I tried to direct the subject into less awkward waters. Cortez snorted, and rolled his massive head above me.

My number two had never lost his wingman reputation.

"They taste like salted turds, huh?" I asked Cortez, playing along with his jibe.

Cortez just sighed through his nose at me.

I didn't have to look at the kid to know that we were losing ground. Crude humor wasn't gonna pull Anastasia out of this one. She was already uncomfortable with being surrounded by the same people who had tried to kill her little more than a month ago.

-But Theron had been made to suffer that same sentiment of ostracization, and I'd be damned if I'd let his daughter submit to the status of a pariah as well.

"Right. Well then…" I gritted my teeth as I struggled to figure this one out.

I wasn't going to apologize to Anastasia. Me lying to her would only make things worse. She had no reason to feel ashamed of her heritage, and I respected Theron too much to besmirch his name for the solace of his daughter.

But I was still the Fucking Bastard at heart…

...And the Fucking Bastard always found a way to resolve any conflict.

"Did they teach you how to dance in House Halcyon?" I asked Anastasia, and the shrinking girl jerked up to meet my smile with a startled look. Melissa glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. It wasn't a happy look. I could feel that look burning a hole in my blind side.

Melissa knew that subtlety wasn't my strong suit, and she always feared for my blunt approaches.

"Come on. Enough sitting around. It's time to make a scene." I grunted, extending a cordial arm to Anastasia, as I met her cursed eyes with my sole one.

I didn't fear the rotting world in her eyes. I'd been there before, and I had come back alive.

The Ghosts didn't scare me anymore.

They just pissed me off, like every other godforsaken mon.

"It's rather rude to leave the Grand Marshal of the Ranger Corps hanging, kid. It really is just plain rude." I wasn't smiling when I said it, though I was laughing inside. Anastasia was getting all timid and flustered by my offer.

She was absolutely terrified of accepting it.

But I had left her with no other choice.

"Thatta girl." I grunted, when Anastasia's soft fingers entered my calloused palm. I pulled that kid to her feet before she could even stammer out a word, and then I dragged her reluctant figure straight over to the orchestra, and placed a request with the maestro for a slow and steady song.

"Right, just in case you know less about waltzing then me, we're gonna go through the steps slowly." I grunted taking the shaking lass out into the ballroom center, within full view of the Kalosian delegation.

"Let's start with a practice round. Put your toes on mine." I splayed my feet apart to a length that came up short of exceeding the width of Anastasia's hips. I could feel her cold hands quaking in mine, and the poor thing could barely shrug off her slippers for all the quivering of her knees.

"Take it easy. It's just a waltz. Easiest thing to dance to. Just sway your hips and take a slow step from side to side every other sway. Now hold my hands-" Now that Anastasia's hose-coated toes rested on the hardened leather of my dress shoes, I lifted her arms apart, and rested my palms against her's.

"Put your fingertips against mine on your right hand, and just relax the left. Laziest dance in the world." I grumbled, and a nervous laugh sounded from Anastasia's lips, right before a sharp intake of breath curbed her humor with dread.

"Just sway, nice and slowly. Let my feet do the stepping. Try to loosen up your elbows. No one is gonna draw and quarter you." I tossed a wink over towards the delegate from House Wikstrom, and the droll-faced prude went white as a sheet when my evil grin hinted at a nefarious intent.

This was fucking scandalous.

The daughter of Theron Halcyon, receiving waltzing instruction from the Hero of All Nations?

The Kalosian nobility was shitting themselves in helpless fury as Grand Marshal Zane Bastard made his verdict known to the whole world.

Fuck with this kid again, you motherfuckers.

 _-I fucking dare you._

"Not too shabby." I whistled as Anastasia began to lift her feet in time with mine.

"I'm actually a wretched dancer, so you should probably forget everything I taught you when we're done here." My cocky smile, carefree attitude, and infamous charm was winning Anastasia over. The sweet little thing was still shaking like a leaf, but my joke had given her ample reason to laugh.

"You're really not that bad, though I'm in no position to criticize." Anastasia murmured through a downcast smile.

"...You don't need to look at your feet, girl. They know how to move on their own." I murmured back to Anastasia, my voice still warm with mirth.

Slowly, hesitantly, Anastasia lifted her eyes from the floor…

...And for the first time since I'd met her, Anastasia met my eyes without shame or fear.

Who gave a damn if the walls were fucking bleeding? Who was bothered by the curls of murmuring smoke and the growing darkness?

Who cared that I was waltzing with a child's rotting skeleton?

I was the only one who could see this shit, and I knew damn well that the bony fingers in my hands belonged to a living, breathing, flesh-coated human being.

"This is fun, ain't it?" I smiled down to the grinning skull below my sternum, and Anastasia's voice reached me through the whispering dark.

"...It is surprisingly enjoyable." Anastasia's distant voice still sounded nervous, but a hint of joy only gave me more reason to smile.

"You got nothing to be ashamed of, Anastasia. You never did anything wrong." I spoke in a low tone for her ears alone, and the peeling skull beneath me averted its grey eyed stare. The shadows began to withdraw, but I released one hand of Anastasia's, and lifted her chin with a thumb, returning her gaze to mine.

"Nothing, kid. Not one damn thing." I grinned with my age old wicked charm, and when that thumb fell away from Anastasia's chin, her eyes didn't look away from mine.

"...Thank you, Zane." Anastasia whispered in the smallest of voices. I took shuddering breath, and peered past Anastasia's shoulder and into the weeping dark.

"You know, he would have loved to have taught you to dance too..." I swallowed hard, and Anastasia's hands twitched against mine.

"Zane, please…" Anastasia's voice sounded in a squeak.

"He loved you, Anastasia. And he wouldn't want you to live in the shadows like he did." I could the old anger coming back. That old anger that I'd never been able explain. That old anger that he used to make me feel.

That old anger I felt whenever I thought about what he had gone through…

Anastasia's hands left mine. One brief curtesy later, and her feet were once again shod.

And she was running away from me, with what little dignity she had left.

I stood alone, simmering in the center of the ballroom. No tune could shake me free from this anger.

Theron had given up everything…

 _...Absolutely everything for her._

And she couldn't even stand to hear his name spoken aloud.

I found my way back to our private table. Somehow a platter of champagne found its way there with me.

"Cortez, sniff her out. Keep an eye on her. And if anyone tries to do something to her, you intervene. The use of deadly force is authorized." I growled to my number two, as I sat down next to my distraught wife, and tossed back the first round of champagne like it was water.

"What happened?" Melissa asked, as Cortez took off on a silent and discreet prowl.

"What do you think happened?" I growled, loosening my necktie, and popping my collar open. Melissa just sighed where she sat, and relocated the platter of champagne to position on the table that was well beyond my reach.

"You'll never learn, will you, Zane?" Melissa groaned as she stared off across the ballroom, not really seeing anything there.

"How is it my fault?" I grumbled, tossing an empty champagne crystal over my shoulder, and glaring at the platter of fresh drinks on the other side of my wife.

"...Just because you think that people should think like you, doesn't mean that they're wrong for not caving into your infinite wisdom, Zane." Melissa started rubbing her eyes with exasperation.

-That attitude of mine stems from avoiding politics and being accustomed to a role of command. Do what I say, when I say it; don't even think of if, and, or, but.

I know better than you, and that's all you need to know.

"...Are you gonna let me get roaring drunk, or have you elected to put up with my foul ass for the rest of the night?" I grumbled to my wife, already well aware of her answer.

"You already drank more than you said you would. You're not touching another drop." Melissa waved down an attendant, and returned my commandeered platter of champagne to him.

-God, I love my wife.

"You're never going to make me into a decent human being, Melissa." I muttered, grudgingly conceding defeat.

"I'm not trying to make you into a decent human being. I just want to see you suffer." Melissa retorted, bringing a slight smile to my face.

She knew how to get through to me. Better than anyone else ever could.

…

After a sumptuous banquet had been served in miniscule proportions on way too big of crockery, it was time to meet and greet with my fellow VIPs.

I never really enjoyed having my ass kissed, so I left pleasantries in Melissa's capable hands, and ran off to instruct some Kalosian noble's six year old son in the proper method of vandalizing a two-hundred year old oak dining table.

After I'd carved my name in the fine grain next to his, I sheathed Doug's old BAMF, and headed off towards the courtyard, without even shooting a smug second look towards the awestruck six year old who had served as as my accomplice in petty crime.

It was time to find Anastasia, and explain a thing or two to my adopted ward.

I had faith in Cortez's ability to keep Anastasia safe. Nobody fucked with the Bastard's pooch and walked away unscathed. Cortez may have been the single most tolerant servicemon on this ravaged planet of earth, but I sure as hell wasn't.

If you fucked with one of the Bastards, you fucked with'em all.

-And no soul on earth could even hope to hold their ground against that kind of force.

But given Cortez's tender nature, I wasn't all that surprised to find my scarred up number two sitting on the courtyard steps, with the tiny Anastasia curled up between his forelegs.

"...You're too soft, Cortez." I grumbled to my Arcanine in an undertone, as I came to stand beside him.

Anastasia was sound asleep, buried in Cortez's thick mane.

...And the salty trails of her dried tears had smudged her makeup in their descent.

"Rise and shine, kid." I gave Anastasia my standard wakeup call with a deep rumble, and Cortez slowly fell away from the girl who had priorly been sleeping against him.

Anastasia didn't want to face me.

But I was the only person in the world who would face her, and that poor girl knew it.

"...We need to talk about something." I grunted, staring off across the courtyard gardens. Anastasia was still sitting on the steps, silently looking up at me in fear.

"Walk with me." I rumbled, setting off on my right foot.

Leaving poor little Anastasia with no other choice than to scamper off of the cold granite steps in pursuit of the only person who would meet her cursed eyes.

I didn't say a thing as Cortez nudged her into step beside me. Apart from my steadily measured footfalls, I didn't make a sound as I left the courtyard, shoved my way past a concerned attendant, and took my leave of the manor's property.

...Before I headed towards Goldenrod's north precinct, with a little violet clad shadow fearfully keeping pace with me.

Cortez knew where I was headed. There was a reason I avoided the cities. I couldn't stop in one of these urban fortresses without taking a moment to say hello and goodbye to all the Rangers that had served beside me in the Reclamation Campaigns.

Every occupied city in world had one.

A Ranger cemetery. A recent memorial to all those who had died in the Reclamation.

I led Cortez and Anastasia through the city wall's stone partitions and into a little alcove of silence and faint memories.

"At ease, Rangers." I murmured that order every time I took my first step into one these memorials.

These men had earned their rest. And their memories didn't need to salute me when I encroached upon their graves.

"Carmine, Stoffer, Jacobs, Merrian, Koski, Shoemaker, Bauser, Ryan, Ryan, Ryan, Ryan…" I murmured every one of their names as I walked past their stones.

I didn't have to look at the markers to know who was buried where.

I had put everyone of them into the earth, and I would never forget where anyone of my soldiers now lay.

"Jacobs… Goodday to you, Private Jacobs." I came to a sudden stop beside one unremarkable stone. Anastasia had been shrinking ever since we had first entered this hallowed ground, and after checking the names on the stones I'd passed by without glancing at, she was had become something morbidly silent.

"...You knew who they all were?" Anastasia asked in a nervous whisper, after a respectful silence had been observed.

"Everyone of them." I muttered, peeling off a piece of moss clinging to Private Jacobs's stone.

These were my men. These were my soldiers. These were my Rangers, and every one of them had made the ultimate sacrifice for the people we all longed to preserve.

"...I'm sorry." Anastasia squeaked, and I could hear the emotion in her voice.

"...There's nothing glorious in death, kid. There's nothing romantic about it. You live everyday as if your life will never end, and then one day, you see a friend die…" I took a deep breath through my nares as their faces and voices all came back to haunt me.

"...Some of them wept in fear of death. Some of them smiled, right before their passage robbed them of that expression. Some of them faced it with a grim determination. Most never even saw it coming…" My voice was barely audible, but Anastasia felt every word.

"Jacobs faced it with a smile. He knew that he'd succeeded. He knew damn well he'd done exactly what he had set out to do when he first put that beret on his head…" I drew deep intake of breath, never breaking ocular focus with his stone.

"...Fourteen years old, and the kid still understood what needed to be done…" I let my pent up breath vacate my lungs in a shaky sigh.

"...What happened?" Anastasia fearfully whispered from my side. I just chuckled sadly, and waited for my emotions to settle before I chose to reply.

"Jacobs made a choice. He could have abandoned the mission, and escaped with his life, and no one would have thought ill of him for it…" I knelt down before his stone, and gently dusted away the the grime accumulating around his name.

"...Or he could fight on and die, and save a dozen soldiers doing so." I swallowed when I traced the date of his birth with a fingertip. He had been born all of eight years after me. He and I had grown up in the same sheltered world, oblivious to the hell that had awaited us on the not so distant horizon.

"...Jacobs made the hard choice. He chose to fight on and die, so that others could live. And it was my greatest honor to fight there beside him when he died." I could feel the long dried tears on my face when I spoke those words. I'd had long ago finished grieving for the loss of my soldiers. But their memory was still alive in me, and I would never forget who each of my Rangers were to me.

"...I'm sorry…" Anastasia was silently weeping with little restraint. My eyes lifted to an engraving just above Jacobs's name.

It was an engraving of two crossed arms, with the fists tightly closed, and a ring of solid gold encircled them.

The Crossed Arms.

A medal bestowed only upon those who willingly sacrificed themselves for the safety of their brothers.

That same decoration was clasped to the right pocket of my coat, and though it was surrounded by a dozen other meritorious accolades…

...The Crossed Arms had adorned my coat before any other medal, and I had yet to earn the credence implied by its honor.

"This medal is only presented to the most noble of soldiers." I murmured, brushing the dirt away from the Crossed Arms on Jacobs's stone with a thumb.

"This medal is only given to martyrs who gave their lives up for the greater good." I continued, and Anastasia took a step closer, in order to to hear my quieting voice.

"Jacobs died a hero, and this medal is the incontestable proof of it." I finished with my caretaking, and fell back with a sigh.

Anastasia didn't know what to say. She could only cry and shake next to me, as my long sight grew ever more distant.

"I brought you here, because I need you to understand, Anastasia…" I found a strength in myself, and used it to project my voice.

"...I need you to understand what self-sacrifice is. And why it is the most noble of actions that a human being could ever aspire to." I stood up with a sigh, and lifted Cortez's pokeball from my hip.

"Cortez, you are dismissed." I bade farewell to my number two, as the pokeball's dematerializing beam made contact with my faithful hound. Then I drew my ultimate weapon from the same belt that Cortez now rested on, and breathed ot the name of my second oldest squadmate with a firm reverence.

"Darwin, report." I ordered, angling the Heavy Ball's lens with the night sky above.

Ten seconds of bio-recognition processes, anatomical re-configuration, and re-materialization later: the Midgar took form in the skies above Goldenrod, eclipsing the stars beyond his serpentine figure with his unimaginable size.

"Come on. I'm not done walking yet." I grunted to Anastasia, as I took ahold of Darwin's saddle belay, and clambered my way up onto my gargantuan Gyarados's rostrum.

Anastasia was still standing in the cemetery, looking up at me with startled eyes, as Darwin shook the earth beneath her with an impatient rumble.

"Easy, fatso. Get that temper under control." I growled to my psychotic leviathan, before I leaned over his armored side to meet Anastasia's shocked gaze.

"We're not waiting forever, kid. Your bedtime is still twenty-one-and-a-half-hundred hours KST. Now climb aboard." I growled, and a frightened Anastasia took hold of Darwin's belay, before scrambling up his armored bulk to saddle in between my arms.

"Alright Darwin. You know where I want to go. Get your fat ass in the sky and get me there in record time, or I'll grill your worthless fucking ass without the butter and lemon." I spat to my perpetually pissed off Gyarados, and jerked firmly on his reins.

And Darwin obeyed me with a city shaking roar, as the biggest goddamn pokemon known to man took off into the night sky, and set a course north-east for Mahogany town's airspace.

...

"Mahogany flight control, this is Blackhat Darwin requesting permission to land in your airspace. We are currently eight clicks south of your district, and preparing for our descent. Over." I radioed in to Mahogany airbase, and awaited the Johtonese's reply.

I wasn't made to wait long.

"Honored Blackhat Darwin, this is Mahogany flight control. You have permission to land in our airbase at your discretion. Welcome back, Honored Blackhat Darwin. Over." The radio operator remembered me. That, or someone had alerted the new guy on the job to my sporadic visits.

"Roger that, and thank you flight control. Over and out." I replied, clipping my aviation radio back into Darwin's saddle.

"Take her slow, Darwin. There's no rush to get there." I sighed, and my mighty legend slayer grumbled his agreement.

"...Hey kid. Time to wake up." I gently shook the tiny girl between my arms into wakefulness, and Anastasia leaned back against my chest as Darwin began his descent.

"Where are we?" Anastasia's murmured voice was almost lost in the howling frigid air.

"...Not too far south of Mahogany town. We're preparing to land in the Frontier. Tighten up now, because Darwin never bothered to learn how to touch down gently. The stupid fucking fish…" I growled the last at my ornery comrade, and Darwin growled right back at me.

"Hey! Remember who you're talking to! Save the tough talk for a fight, you ugly fucking freak of nature!" I swatted Darwin's rostrum with a scarred hand, and the grudge happy Gyarados beneath me rumbled with a vehement hiss.

"Don't make me kick your ass, chubby." I warned my most dangerous of allies with a rumble of my own, and ended the pissing contest with a silent chuckle.

Darwin would kill me someday. That much was a given, but I didn't particularly care.

I still had his friendship, and that was all that really mattered to me.

"We're getting close now. When we hit the treeline, don't start panicking. Darwin is harder than any timber, and as rough as the ride is gonna be, it ain't gonna kill you." I did my best to prepare Anastasia for the landing ahead. I ever tossed in a cheesy smile to make light of the bruises and welts we were about to accumulate.

"Where are we going?" Anastasia asked in small and worried voice.

"Where?" I teased Anastasia with that same stupid smile still glued to my face, as the first set of treetops began to slam against Darwin's white belly.

"-Why, we're just stopping off to say hello to Darwin's big sister."

…

It was a small clearing that we entered. Carved stones made a low, mortarless wall around the permitter, and the flowers that filled that wall's enclosure were not indigenous to northern Johto's botanical roster.

"Hello Vauban." I whispered, stepping over that low wall with Anastasia in tow.

I was already fighting back the tears. I always had to when I came to this place.

I made my way towards the enclosure's center, where the flowers thinned, and three humble stones broke the level soil, positioned side by side.

I had brought Anastasia to another cemetery.

I had brought her to the dearest memorial that I knew.

"...Been a few months, hasn't it baby girl?" I murmured when I came to stand before the stone furthest left.

This was where she had been laid to rest. This is where my daughter had been buried.

...Right next to the most tragic soul that I had ever known.

"Hey Theron. Long time no see, brother." I turned to his stone now, with the tears streaming down my face.

Anastasia froze solid in my shadow.

"Valerie. Good to see you again, gorgeous." I turned to the stone farthest right, and bowed my head with a soft smile to Anastasia's mother.

"...I know that I've been away for a while guys. But I promised that I'd come back. I promised that I'd come to see y'all again." I was trying not choke when I spoke those words.

It didn't matter that they had all died twenty years ago.

It didn't matter that I had all that time to mourn their loss.

Whenever I stepped over that low stonewall…

...I was eighteen years old again, facing the end of the world…

...And I was saying goodbye to them all, like it was the very first time that wretched sentiment took its leave of my mouth.

"I miss you guys. I miss all of you…" My lips pursed together, as I braced myself against a sob.

Anastasia was as quiet as a ghost, barely able to comprehend this hallowed ground's existence.

There wasn't a cemetery in the world that would inter Theron's stone.

So I had to make one for him, far away from where anyone else knew.

"...I brought someone special with me, Theron… Valerie. Someone… Someone I thought you'd like to meet." I couldn't hold the emotion back now. I couldn't even even see out my eye. A shaking arm reached out for the stunned little girl at my side, and it guided her numb footsteps into position before me, as I introduced Anastasia to her parents.

"Theron… This is your daughter, Anastasia…" I put both hands on that gasping girl's shoulders, and my hands squeezed them firmly, as I tried to ease her past the shock.

"...I know… I know that you never wanted me to find out about her, Theron. I know… that you wanted to keep her safe… But…" I closed my one eye, and steadied myself against a shudder.

"...But things didn't go as you planned. Just like they never really did."

Anastasia was hiccuping against my sternum, crying for a reason that she couldn't fully understand. I turned my blurry sight to the rightmost stone, and carried on with introductions.

"You made a beautiful daughter, Valerie. She's the spitting image of you. Except for the eyes…" My eye flicked over towards the center stone, and my lips drew taut before I dared to tell Theron the heartless truth.

"...She has her father's eyes." I whispered to Theron, knowing full well how devastated he'd be to discover that his daughter had inherited his curse.

"You two made a good kid. A real sweetheart. A real tough cookie… Guess that means she takes after the both of you…"

Anastasia fell to her knees, and started sobbing into her hands.

I knelt down beside her, and wrapped my arms protectively around Anastasia's frail form.

"They loved you, Anastasia. They both wanted the very best for you. And no matter what your father did, he is still your father… And he still deserves to be loved by his daughter." I breathed those words into that hyperventilating child's ears, and a quaking Anastasia lifted her pupiless eyes to behold the center stone.

"Da… da-daddy-?"

...And that broken and desperate voice of hers brought back every wretched moment that Theron had ever put me through.

From our first encounter in Viridian City's shuttle terminal…

...All the way to his final moments in the Brink, where he had died sobbing within my arms, absolutely terrified of what awaited him in death.

I didn't say anything more. My tears slowed before they ceased, and the rivulets on my face began to dry away.

But Anastasia wept on and on, her pale hands resting on Theron's stone…

...And her tiny thumb and forefinger were looped around the Crossed Arms engraved above his name.


	5. TSoK, Book 1: Summarized Plotline

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Now because I know that the prior contents have only hinted at the intended plot behind TSoK, I thought I'd provide a crash course as the ultimate reader resource. This qualifies as extra curricular activity for me, but I feel obligated to give you folks something more than some disjointed odds and ends to chew on. Call it silly, but… I honestly appreciate your interest in the story, and I feel as though I let you down by discontinuing production. So to absolve my conscience and to answer your curiosity, I'll offer a brief breakdown of meaningful events that I intended to include in the narrative; starting with where book 1 left off.

The gym battle between Zane and Lt. Surge ends in a draw; but Surge concedes defeat out of respect for Zane. The gym battle was going to be fought on an unusual front; more of a triathlon than a traditional gym battle.

In this triathlon, Zane and Surge are dropped off in a Frontier Training course, where they're expected to marshal their mon into performing mock-military exercises; each checkpoint of the exercise pits the respective Trainers' leadership element against each other in brief high-stakes skirmishes, while the go between events is marked by a race across the Frontier. Trainers are penalized for being the last to arrive at an event, and because Zane was forced to deploy Mac in the Triathlon, his infantile Munchlax, Zane repeatedly accrued the runner-up's penalties.

Following this highly controversial match, Zane is publicly lauded by Lt. Surge, who commends Zane on his dastardly stratagem and indomitable spirit; before Theron makes a surprise return as the "Contested King of Kalos" to publicly recognize Zane's prowess in both combat and tactics. Interest in both Zane and Ranger Corps skyrockets after this level of authoritative recognition; while simultaneously, Indigo's private sector expands their interest into global politics; namely in Lord Theron Halcyon and his contributions towards establishing world peace via the Concordant.

Zane is involuntarily escorted out Vermilion City and Eastward into the Prague (Home of the dream-eating Drowzees) by "representatives" of House Halcyon (I.E. Halcyon Shadows; AKA: Kalos's Secret Service) to meet with Theron, who has decided to privately accompany Zane on a leisurely trip north towards Lavender Town.

Along the way, Theron insists on making camp, while Zane is adamantly opposed to such action; given the Prague's infamy for Drowzee attacks. Confident in his Ghosts' ability to protect him, Theron makes camp all the same.

As is discovered by Zane later in the night, Theron has little need to fear the Drowzee, seeing as his own Ghosts are more than happy to torture Theron while he dreams. A compromised Theron calls upon Grigori for assistance, and the motherly drakaina wards the weeping Theron from his own Ghosts.

This is where Book 1's Excerpts picks up.

Following the Excerpts, Theron and Zane travel northward with all due haste towards Lavender Town. Theron then insists on using a subterranean shortcut through the Kobold Mountains, where Zane and Theron share their first legitimate empathetic moment(Excerpts touch on this), and a friendship forged by mutual understanding begins to form between the two.

A friendship that is tested to the point of breaking when Theron murders Amy, an eight year old Channeler of Lavender Town, for seemingly senseless reasons (Book 2, Chapter 1's intro scene highlights the murder from Theron's perspective).

ACE forces Zane to accompany Theron westward through the Grey Mile, through Saffron City by shuttle, and into Celadon City. Zane, at this point, is wrestling with his disgust for Theron's betrayal of trust, and his own reluctance with returning to his homestead of Cerulean City. Alternatively grieved and relieved that none of his old contacts recognize Zane Bastard for who he really is (Clarence Hobbes), Zane takes a personal tour of his old haunts in an effort to separate himself from Theron.

In doing so, Zane encounters Lady Valerie Le-Faye of Kalos's Noble House Le-Faye; a strange young woman desperately seeking Theron Halcyon. On introducing himself to Valerie, Zane discovers that she is Theron's fiancee, and was secretly expedited out of House Arturia's custody by the combined efforts of House Le-Faye, House Halcyon, and House Lysander to track down the errant Eidolon King, and convince him to return home in order to resume the political battle between himself and Allan Arturia.

Valerie however, is far more concerned with mending old wounds between herself and Theron than she is with bringing Theron home; and through her loyalty and unconditional love for Theron; helps bring out the most human aspect of the Eidolon King.

This brings about a conflict in Theron, as he is disgusted with himself over the murder of Amy, and terrified that Valerie would abandon him if she ever learned that Theron murdered a child. However, Zane, in an act of spite, reveals just how lost Theron is to Valerie, and though the young woman is deeply wounded by Theron's actions, she does not blame Theron for Amy's death.

This in turn starts a suicidal feud between Theron and Zane; Theron who regards Zane's reveal to Valerie as a betrayal of trust; and Zane who regards Theron's unwillingness to confess to the person who loves him as a sign of personal weakness.

Wounded by Zane's incriminations, a furious Theron nearly kills the intrepid Ranger in a self-righteous fervor. Zane refuses to be coerced, and scores a number of telling blows against Theron's character; prompting Theron to retreat from the conflict.

Later in the day (at night) Exodus kidnaps Zane as per requested by a traumatized Theron; who is patronizing a top class jewelry store well after closing time.

Theron confesses to Zane that he requires Zane's help in picking a wedding ring, because Theron's eyes only show Theron decay when he scours the establishment for a fitting band. Theron, at his weakest, defers to Zane's judgement, and Zane in an act of pity, selects a fitting band for Theron's proposal.

Small points to note, while all the prior has been going down:

Cortez has begun his evolution cycle into an Arcanine, as has Mac into a Snorlax.

Zane has accepted a formal invitation to tour Erika's gardens, and discovers that the next gym leader is a cold-hearted and cordially mannered bitch who isn't above psychological torture (during the tour, Erika basically feeds her "garden" the corpses of Growlithes, Magikarps, and "defective" Bulbasaurs in an effort to take advantage of Zane's PTSD, but Zane just gets pissed off); during this tour, Zane is also reunited with Melissa, who works at the Cerulean Gym as a Botanical Physician.

Zane confides in Melissa during a private meeting (touched on in Excerpts) and miraculously, Zane finally begins the long road to self-redemption with Melissa's forgiveness. An awkward relationship is established between Melissa and Zane, as Zane is wholly ready to commit to Melissa, while battling his own feelings of inadequacy; and though Melissa expresses interest in Zane's advances, she is still getting over the loss of Brenda, which Zane willingly tames himself in light off.

Picking up from there, Theron and Valerie are secretly married, though Zane recognizes their wedding bands (he picked them out after all) for what they are. A moment of closure transpires between Zane and Theron over a "celebratory" dinner out with their better halves; and though Zane is unwilling to forget Amy, Zane can at least understand that it wasn't truly Theron who killed the girl (even though it totally was).

Theron and Valerie disappear after this dinner; presumably to celebrate their union in secret (They actually elope to Johto, where they conceive Anastasia in secret; though Valerie later dies in child labor); Zane meanwhile tackles an orthodox Cerulean Gym match, crushing Erika in spite of her psychological attacks on him.

Following the battle, Zane is "introduced" to a vague figure who apparently has history with him. It's heavily implied that this figure is Zane's father, who has buried the hatchet in hopes of rediscovering a relationship with his beleaguered son (touched on in Excerpts). The chapter closes with Zane demonstrating his willingness to teach the next generation of Trainers in how to not fuck up their lives.

After a time elapse, the story picks up with a fully evolved Mac, Cortez, and a recently Vensaur'd Vauban. For his exceptional performance in the League, Zane has been rewarded with "leave from service", which Zane spends exclusively on Deep Frontier Operations (namely the rescue of estranged Trainers, and the culling of exceptionally dangerous mon). During this period, both Zane and the Ranger Corps' popularity has spiked. Recruiters are being overwhelmed, and Zane hosts an Indigo sponsored documentary on Ranger activities, providing Indigo's population with a first-hand perspective on Ranger lifestyle and activities; replete with clandestine elitism, the personal and often inhumane losses suffered in the service, and the raw need felt by every Ranger to protect civilization. Public support for the Rangers skyrocket, and Zane becomes the poster child of this revitalization.

The narrative meanders to a rescue effort in the Kobold mountains that goes foul, when a tribe of troglodyte Machamp successfully drop a cavern roof on the Bastard Unit. Though most of the Bastards escape with minimal injury, and rescue mission ends in success, Damascus bears the brunt of the casualties, having been broken in half by the falling debris.

Desperate to save his squadmate, and hold true to a promise he made to Doug, Zane convinces Blackhat Team Seven to assist him in Damascus's rescue; and Captain Lewis reluctantly authorizes Damascus's admittance to Chimera's Experimental Therapy Faculties; where Zane finally meets the lunatic hippie of legend himself, Enzo Davinci.

While amicable (especially with Captain Lewis, who seems perturbed by Enzo's romantic affections), Enzo reveals his less than stable enthusiasm, and quickly assures Zane that Chimera Industries can save Damascus, except in the event that they can't, in which case, Damascus is fucking screwed (Enzo Davinci doesn't understand what tact is).

Enzo embarks on a personal theory of his pertaining to the Onixia species, and begins a 2-week long process in which he entombs Damascus's rent halves in an experimental autoclave, in which he attempts to "repair" the ancient Onix via extreme exposure to pressure, heat, and the introduction of high carbon iron alloys. Long story short, Damascus is not only restored, but also recorded as the very first ever Terran-evolved Steelix; courtesy of Enzo's artificial procedure.

During the 2 week period, Enzo and Zane share some rather intimate details about themselves, and form a casual friendship. It's also during this period that Enzo artificially modifies Vauban into the very first Howitzer-Class Venusaur (Which Enzo achieved by splicing a Sunflora bloom into Vauban's botanical anatomy), which essentially bequeaths Vauban with the ability to convert Solar radiation into intense and directed electromagnetic laser bursts (Solar Beam, yo!).

Enzo also displays an intimate familiarity with the majority of Zane's crew (Vauban, Cortez, and Mac all remember Enzo fondly from their birth on the Ranch). To top the power trip off, Enzo not only "boosts" Darwin's lackluster susceptibility to evolutionary stimulus (Without Enzo's intervention, it's heavily implied that Darwin was incapable of evolving), but also imparts Zane with the sixth, and final mon of the Bastard Unit; Ramses, the gender challenged (and bitchy) Waterloo Pupitar, who is scheduled for a timely evolutionary epoch; right before the League Seasonal Finals.

Zane leaves Enzo's Ranch considerably more armed than before Damascus's near death experience; and prioritizes Darwin's Evolution into a massive Gyarados over all other commitments.

Zane ultimately succeeds in his hopes for Darwin, though the resulting evolution nearly kills Zane and his entire crew. As predicted, Darwin evolves into an unprecedented monster of a Gyarados, defying the criteria of the Disaster Classification Index, and ranking among the Lima-Ones in his destructive potential.

However, with great size comes incredible gravitational strain, and Darwin is nearly crushed to death under his own mass (Which saves the Bastards from an unseemly demise at Darwin's maw). Unable to cope with earth's gravitational attraction or its atmospheric pressures for extended durations, Darwin is restricted to maritime activity, where his natural buoyancy can support his sheer scale.

After having been surgically altered by Chimera Industries to improve his anatomical tolerance for atmospheric conditions, Darwin grudgingly accepts Zane as his Trainer, and the two renew a shaky relationship, given Darwin's newly developed homicidal reaction to any and all forms of aggravation.

Story cuts to Zane's trip towards Fuchsia. His leave is over, and Zane is returning to active duty in the League with a mon roster that defies collegial comparison. Given the addition of a Steelix and an unbelievably oversized Gyarados to Zane's team, most League Analysts have already predicted Zane Bastard's ascent to the Indigo League Throne. Riding on a wave of popularity, Zane heads south to tie up his loose ends in League, starting with the Kurosawa clan's Fuchsia City Gym.

However, a surprise event waylays Zane's ambitions, and the rising star of the Ranger Corps is alerted to a pokemon attack on Fuchsia; actively being carried out by a Lima-One known as "Articuno".

Rushing across the Fuchsia Coast to assist the domestic forces fighting off Articuno, Zane encounters the Fuchsia Ninjas through Janine (The Fuchsia City Gym Leader and Daughter of the infamous Koga Kurosawa) who have allied with both Kanto's Military and the Ranger Corps to defend Fuchsia City against Articuno's attack.

Given Zane's reputation, Janine turns over command of an "unauthorized" rescue op to Zane (Basically, Janine and Zane attempt to save a sequestered group of illegal Johtonese immigrants), though the deteriorating situation in downtown Fuchsia ends up commandeering Zane's priorities.

Articuno is kicking the shit out of Fuchsia, and nothing the Rangers, Military, or Kurosawa Ninjas can muster against it is waylaying the frigid siege.

Enter a Lima-One class Darwin on intercept with what is essentially the winged and weaponized equivalent of absolute zero.

Despite Darwin's immense scale and power, he doesn't have the speed to keep up with Articuno, especially when any effort to pursue results in lethal exposure to extreme-low temperatures and boreal weather phenomenon. Though Vauban offers fire support with her Solar Beams, Articuno quickly adapts its attack solution to account for the surface-to-air laser bombardment. Using Fuchsia's skyline for cover, Articuno evades the Bastards' every attempt to break the siege.

...Until Zane has the bright idea (Number 1 on his list of stupidest ideas he's ever acted on) to catch Articuno in a low altitude pincer maneuver; using Vauban and himself as bait, and a shaft-happy Damascus and a pissed-off Darwin as the pincers.

Long story short, Zane's gamble succeeds; Articuno is crushed between Damascus and Darwin; though Zane ends up delivering the critical blow, when he uses Doug's Knife to sever a crippled Articuno's throat; which costs him half of his face (Articuno pecked his fake eye out, taking most of Zane's left face with it), as well as half of Zane's right hand (Articuno's blood is colder than liquid helium, so Zane suffered some instant frostbite when he severed Articuno's throat).

Zane is rescued from lethal exposure to Articuno's frigid remains by the responding Blackhat Teams, and though they prioritize Zane and his injured unit's medical treatment, Team Seven vaguely mentions that they need to contact Chimera ASAP for immediate "specimen retrieval" (I.E. ACE has Enzo and his company working on some pretty shady shit, and Articuno's remains are going to contribute to it).

Zane wakes up in a hospital to a Hero's welcome. He's the first human in history to have slain one of the nigh-invincible Lima-Ones, and his exploits have become the stuff of international interest. Even though he's been irreparably disfigured by the ordeal (The left side of Zane's face is a scarred nightmare; his left eye socket can no longer support ocular prosthetics; meaning that it's eye patches from here on out matey, ARRRRGHHH!), and his right hand is missing a couple of digits (his right forearm is just as fucked up as his face), Zane still concedes that the sacrifice was a trivial price to pay given the amount of lives it saved.

During his recovery, Zane was made into an honorary member of the Kurosawa Clan (Zane was unconscious when Koga announced it, so he couldn't exactly contest his inclusion in a mobster family), earning Zane the Soul Badge as a testament to his heroics (Janine also points out that any gym battle hosting Darwin is a moot victory for Zane). Once again, Zane's popularity reaches untold heights, and the Ranger Corps ultimately benefit from Zane's rising influence.

After the festivities in Fuchsia (as well as an exposition match between Zane and Janine; more so for formality's sake than anything else), Zane is dragged off to a private ceremony in the Frontier by Captain Mary Lewis of Blackhat Team Seven. It's here that a playful Mary Lewis rewards Zane with his childhood dream; a Black Beret.

All 118 Blackhats stand in attendance to welcome their newest member into the fold; and Zane is commemorated for his bravery against Articuno by being recognized as the newest member of Blackhat Team Seven.

The narrative skips ahead, briefly covering Zane's predictable victories against Saffron's Sabrina, and Cinnabar's Blaine Breitbarth. With only one Gym Badge to go before qualifying for the Victory Road Trials, Blackhat Zane Bastard petitions to Ranger High Command to be included in a specific mission into Viridian's Sector Charlie.

The narrative picks up on Zane, leading a group of Ranger cadets to Frontier Charlie, intent on resuming the mission that he and Echo Squad failed almost a year before.

But this isn't the same Zane that we met back in chapter 2.

Little by little, bit by bit, Zane has changed as a person. Furious is still his default setting, but patience has tempered the old rage, and concern for his fellow Rangers has turned Zane into a mentor, rather than an elitist.

Calmly leading the new Echo Squad to Frontier Charlie, Zane picks up the pieces of a shattered life, and makes good on his promise to the original Echo Squad. Instructing this new generation of Rangers in the values that he learned throughout his many ordeals, Zane reveals a newfound quiet side; a mixture of depressed and hopeful.

After having introduced his second in command, and the soon to be Commander of Echo Squad, Tony (You guys remember Tony, right?) to the battlefield where Zane's Echo Squad fell, Zane imparts his wisdom to Tony in an effort to curb the enthusiasm of youth. Joining a training squadron of Ranger Aviation Cadets flying over the Long Sway, Zane, Darwin, and Tony commandeer the flight unit, leading them over Indigo Plateau in a display of the Ranger's renewed presence in Indigo.

With Zane vowing to knock Lance off his Throne, and wield the bureaucratic powers of Indigo's Champion for the good of the people, book 1 ends, and book 2 begins.

I'll commit to Book 2's plotline when I have time to do so. It was never intended to be anywhere near as massive as Book 1, but then again…

...I never thought Book 1 would turn out to be so fucking big.


	6. TSoK, Book 2: Summarized Plotline

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Okay, Book 2. Picking up from where Chapter 2 left off…

The day following King Allan and Princess Diantha's argument, Theron is assigned to execution duty for the dishonored Sir Mayhorn. With the evidence procured from House Halcyon's investigation, House Shabboneau (The Noble House of Magistracy) has found Sir Mayhorn and his civilian accomplices guilty of treason against the state. Given that treason is a capitol offense, the King of Kalos has ruled in favor of swift and immediate public execution.

In an effort to dissuade revolutionaries, King Allan has authorized House Halcyon as the executioners of the state; meaning that the Crown is forgoing the standard beheading, and permitting for Distortion-Bound executions; the most terrifying of death sentences (if you believe the claims of Eidolon-Veneration, dying in the Distortion is a fast-pass to hell).

Theron, representing both the noble virtues of the Knightly Orders, and House Halcyon as an official Shadow, is conscripted into the execution; specifically,Theron will oversee Sir Mayhorn's decapitation on the event horizon of a Distortion rift.

It's at the execution that Theron meets with his other Halcyon Shadows, and identifies his father among the Shadows pulled for execution duty. Other than acknowledging his familial relationship to the aforementioned Shadow, Theron seems content with the lack of a paternal relationship; revealing that Theron and his father aren't even remotely close.

Theron carries out his assigned duty; demonstrating little tolerance or compassion for traitors, before he is recalled to House Halcyon to deliver his latest interrogation reports directly to the Duchess.

The social call serves to reinforce the cruel apathy of House Halcyon, as the Duchess of House Halcyon (Theron's older cousin) only met with Theron to review the states of his Heirlooms. Showing far more amiability towards Exodus, Demeter, and Thanatos than she does towards Theron, the Duchess expresses absolutely zero interest in Theron's well being; and when Theron petitions the Duchess for the right to plan out his marriage with Valerie, the request is ignored, and Theron is summarily redeployed to Parfum.

A bit of backstory as to Kalosian oligarchy and its history is explored on the return trip, and Theron is met by Lord Edwin Le-Faye, who expresses interests in Theron's plans to marry his ailing daughter.

Though somewhat perturbed by the thought of his daughter marrying a Halcyon, Lord Edwin respects Valerie's decision to honor the arrangement, and concludes that of all the Halcyons his daughter could be married to, Theron would have been his first pick too. This is the closest we get to a heartfelt moment; as Lord Edwin agrees to use his stately authority to pressure the Duchess of Halcyon into permitting for the nuptial ceremonies.

Theron returns to his duties at Parfum, but a growing interest in Parfum's latest political addition, the ACE defector Vice-Marshal Gerald Arnold, prompts Theron to initiate his own investigation into ACE's activities overseas.

With a bit of direction from Gerald Arnold, Theron locates a series of substantial investments that seem to be related to an ACE operation. Given the level of secrecy and the scale of these investments, Theron begins to chase the money trail to its many misleading ends, before he finally identifies an incriminating shipment of hardware and supplies destined to be delivered to the abandoned Helios Brink Observatory; a pre-Blackout Act international research installation that was used to monitor Brink activity; located in a dark zone that has been expressly forbidden any form of access to by the last International Summit of Governments.

A code that has been globally observed to the present day, and one that appears to have been violated by Indigo's Secret Service.

Taking his findings to both the Crown and House Halcyon sparks a degree of interest in both departments, but it is ultimately overshadowed by both the growing threat of a domestic revolution and the multinational situation developing in the Ellis archipelago; where Sinnoh has taken hostile counter action against Unova's incursion.

With the Crown pushing aside his ACE investigation in favor of addressing the more immediate concerns of the state; Theron continues his investigation independently, stumbling across a number of frustrating dead ends, before finally locating a correlation concrete enough to give his developing suspicions an agenda.

The leaked Mew-0 Project; a decommissioned black project headed by ACE almost thirty years ago.

Though the details regarding the Mew-0 project and its overlying goals are scarce, a scientific director of the project leaked information to the public that suggested the attempted resurrection of an extinct species of Lima-Two. More specifically, the resurrection of a theoretical transitional species that birthed the entire Para-Kingdom.

While the project itself was decommissioned, specific assets derived from the Mew-0 project appear to have been recycled and repurposed for an even more elusive ACE operation that predates the Mew-0 Project; an expansive ACE black project codenamed "Operation Wounded Hearts" that was authorized thirty years ago, and one that has never been officially recognized, decommissioned, or declassified by ACE.

...The same ACE operation that seems to be overseeing the recent shipments to the forbidden Helios Brink Observatory. Shipments that suggest ACE's technological interest in the Helios Brink Observatory's long lost and unofficial operations.

Convinced that he's nailed down a lead on a possible threat to not only Kalos, but the rest of the world as well, Theron takes his findings directly to the King himself. Unfortunately, Theron's obsession with Operation wounded Hearts and the compounded stress of his civil duties has resulted in the development of mania. Theron's report is received with skepticism, mostly due to Theron's mentally unstable presentation.

Both frustrated and terrified that the Crown refuses to take his report seriously, Theron, under growing pressure from managing his duties, his independent investigation, and the difficulties associated with arranging his marriage, ultimately snaps and attempts to coerce the information out of Gerald Arnold in a fruitless and desperate act of unauthorized inquisition, which is forestalled by the punitive intervention of his fellow Crownguard.

Having violated the codes of chivalry, and jeopardize the integrity of Kalos's King; Theron is brought to private trial to determine his guilt. Despite his breach of code, and his questionable mental state, Theron's record of civil service speaks highly for his integrity and intentions; and Princess Diantha herself testifies against the accusations in Theron's personal defense.

Finally able to convince her brother that both the stresses of Channeling and the Crownguard's over reliance on Theron's capabilities has taken its toll on the young Knight's state of mind, Princess Diantha successfully negotiates for Theron's leave from active duty; acquitting him of all charges and securing Theron the personal time required to plan and carry out his marriage to Lady Valerie Le-Faye.

Knowing full well that House Halcyon has no pity for their own personnel, and that leave from the Crownguard would abandon Theron to the services of House Halcyon, Princess Diantha recommends that Theron be compensated for his exceptional past service, affording him with private access to House Arturia's own northern villa, located near Shalour City.

All of which, Theron vehemently protests, demonstrating his mania with the expressed desire to remain on active duty, so as to better advance his investigation with the assets of the Crown.

A statement that ultimately convinces King Allan that he may have inadvertently abused his greatest security asset to the point of compromise, invoking a rare expression of pity and guilt from the otherwise selfish tyrant.

Theron reluctantly turns over his heraldry mail and the Crownguard's ceinture, before submitting to the Royalty's command. Dispatched to northern Kanto for some much needed R&R, Theron shows little interest in leisure, and continues his independent investigation into Operation: Wounded Hearts from the privacy of House Arturia's Shalour Villa.

Theron is convinced that the confirmation he seeks is accessassable from his only lead, Gerald Arnold, though ACE's capable security methodology has prevented the conventional extraction of that confirmation. In response to this hunch, Theron begins to develop a theory that may provide him with an unorthodox method of extracting that confirmation.

Enter plans for channeling Typhon; a Halcyon heirloom wraith so immensely powerful that it developed the means to revoke the oaths of channeling; an unprecedented and unreplicated capability that has made Typhon the single most dangerous wraith known to mankind.

Theron faces a number of hurdles in pursuing this avenue. Foremost is Typhon's ability to disobey its Channeler; a predictable behavior that condemned Typhon to imprisonment beneath Kalos's southern bay. The second hurdle is the cross dimensional limitation of channeling five wraiths while maintaining a stable Distortion seep, and Theron's lack of a confidant that would be willing to channel Typhon as a surrogate for Theron's purposes.

Not only must Theron devise a way to conquer Typhon, but Theron must also discover a means of mastering a fifth channel; a feat that though previously attempted, has always resulted in the collapse of a Channeler's Distortion seep, ultimately culminating in the Channeler's instant unification with the Distortion.

Theron determines that with proper application of Distortion hyperdynamics, he can bind Typhon to his service with a drawn out series of oaths. Similar principles can be used to stabilize the Channeler's Distortion seep, though ultimately, Theron pins his hopes for success on Typhon's compliance through the later stage of the altered channeling ritual, seeing as Typhon is the only known wraith to demonstrate the capability of "shepherding" the living through the blackened lands unscathed.

The problem with this approach is that, while Theron's channeled Ghosts are powerful enough to apply the theory; Typhon's ability to revoke the oaths of channeling isn't just restricted to Typhon's rites.

Typhon can use that same ability to assume control of Theron's ghosts, and use them against him in the channeling ritual.

Theron needs an alternative source of Distortion affinity; one substantial enough to contest the might of Typhon, and one potent enough to apply Theron's proposed hyperdynamic formula.

So begins the road of betrayal, as Theron identifies a specific species of Interloper as the only viable source of the required Distortion affinity.

Using his skills as a Halcyon Shadow, and his formidable repertoire of Ghosts, Theron elopes to House Shabboneau's Prime Magistracy, and steals their only Keystone.

An action that falls under the definition of treason; a civil offense made even more dire considering Theron's intentions regarding the appropriated Key Stone.

Contacting a tribe of Dragon Worshipers in Hoenn through a surrogate in the Marche Noir; Theron arranges an deal that the Draconids simply can't refuse.

In exchange for a coveted Kalosian Keystone, Theron is willing to take possession of the Draconid's greatest asset; one of only four known Hydreigons.

Eloping to Hoenn to oversee the exchange in person, Theron is introduced to the savage Draconids; a cult every bit as vicious and bloodthirsty as the monsters they worship. While Theron intends to cheat the Draconids by providing only the Keystone and none of the required mega-stones (nobody outside the Kalosian nobility actually understands how mega-evolution is achieved, so Theron can play on the Draconid's ignorance of the mega-stones' existence), the Draconids are no less crafty and dishonest in their end of the deal; forcing Theron to undergo a series of tribal rites designed to maim and eventually kill him (Everything from clutching a burning coal in his bare hand; to imbibing dangerous amounts of toxin; to wrestling his desired dragon in one on one combat).

Though the tribal rites are generally staged throughout a Draconid's lifetime to limit the damage they inflict to an individual; Theron undergoes all the rites at once and survives, proving that he is worthy to command the Dragons, and earning the title of Honorary Draconid.

While the Draconids are disappointed with Theron's survival, they ultimately uphold their end of the bargain, and turn over Grigori, their prized Hydreigon, in exchange for Theron's stolen Keystone.

Returning to Kalos with the desired asset (and a sweet Hydreigon scarification tattoo on his back), Theron begins the arduous task of rearing Grigori; who is considerably unhinged, even for a member of the Hydreigon species.

During this time frame, Theron also makes half hearted arrangements to marry Valerie, though the guilt of treason drives Theron to distance himself from Valerie. Valerie eventually discovers Grigori on a visit to the Shalour Villa, and though she doesn't question how or why Theron procured such a beast, Valerie identifies certain maternal behaviors of Grigori that pave the way for Theron's taming of her.

With his leave from active duty coming to an end, and plans for his future marriage set in stone, Theron returns to Parfum to resume his duties in the Crownguard. While the stolen Shabboneau Keystone has not gone unnoticed, Theron has completely eluded all suspicion, until Lord Gregory Wikstrom inquires as to the unusual nature of Theron's scarred hand, and Theron arrogantly responds:

"This is the price one pays for stealing fire from the Gods."

Upon discovering Theron's unusual scarification tattoo, Lord Wikstrom has Theron detained under suspicion of collusion, and an investigation into his private activities while on leave is authorized by the Crown.

Fast running out of time, and having exhausted his every political ally, Theron, in his desperation to discover the intentions of Operation: Wounded Hearts, retaliates against his Wardens, slaying many members of the Kalosian Royal Guard in his escape from Parfum, which as good as confirms Theron's guilt.

Racing to Kalos's western coast to carry out his plans of channeling Typhon, Theron commits another act of treason when he sacrifices a pursuing Halcyon Shadow during the ritual, and releases Typhon from his oceanic confinement.

Though the ritual nearly results in Theron's death, Grigori ultimately comes through for him, spurred on by a maternal desperation to protect Theron from Typhon's retaliation. Theron not only breaks Typhon to his will, but successfully masters the fifth channel; a historical event among Channelers.

But as with every channel prior, binding one's self to the Ghosts only brings the Channeler that much closer to the Distortion, and Theron's fifth Channel results in the irreversible mutilation of his ocular perception.

The Prophet's Eyes are opened, and Theron's cursed vision reveals the obtuse and ever changing avenues of causality, a hideous revelation that drives Theron further into madness, yet provides him with unparalleled guidance in exchange for his vexed sight.

Foreseeing his impending demise at the hands of the Crown, Theron realizes that he needs to overthrow the current regime if he's to have any chance of preventing Operation Wounded Hearts from imperiling the world. For that end, Theron needs to demonstrate his legitimacy and claim Kalos's sovereignty. But first, a former ACE Vice-Marshal requires one last interrogation to confirm and expand Theron's suspicions.

Utilizing Typhon's unique capabilities to return to Parfum undetected, Theron and Typhon drag Gerald Arnold into the Distortion, where they interrogate him well beyond the reach of any ACE employed psions.

Discerning the intention and goals of Operation Wounded Hearts from Gerald Arnold's final testament (Which ultimately results in Theron's Vision of the Kings), Theron abandons the former Vice-Marshal to the Distortion, and begins carrying out the next stage of his plans:

The summoning of an Aegislash, who possesses the cultural preeminence required to legitimize Theron's claim to the Kalosian Crown.

With both the Crownguard and Halcyon Shadows hot on his heels, Theron violates the sanctity of House Arturia's family sepulcher to procure the final component required for the summoning of an Aegislash: the burial shroud of a King.

Enacting the summoning ritual in the sepulcher's royal vaults, Theron offers his Doublade, Pariah, as the second component of the ritual. Casting both Pariah and the burial shroud into the Distortion, Theron completes the summoning ceremonies just in time for the pursuing Halcyon Shadows to catch up with him…

...Who announce their presence by slitting Theron's throat (Icing on the cake: it was Theron's father who did the slashing).

Expecting Theron to bleed out, which would've allocated the Shadows with enough time to escape the resulting death curse, the appearance of an Aegislash halts House Halcyon's retreat by slaying Theron's father, and in acknowledgement of Theron's sovereign right to rule, the Aegislash (bearing the standards of House Arturia on its heraldic arsenal no less) kneels before its dying King, and offers its sword to Theron in a vow of fealty.

Following Theron's acceptance of the Aegislash's fealty, Demeter and Pariah both attend to Theron's slashed throat with some none to gentle medical administrations. Though he can barely speak, or even stand for all the blood loss, Theron rises to his feet to discover that his audience of Halcyon Shadows have prostrated themselves before him, in clear recognition of his sovereignty.

House Halcyon escorts Theron back to Parfum's throne room, not as a criminal, but as a King. Addressing the spectating Royal Court's confusion personally, Theron states his demand to the gathered Noble Houses:

Allan Arturia will unconditionally step down as King, relinquishing all sovereign authority of Kalos to the rightful King, Theron Halcyon.

House Arturia denies Theron's claim to the Throne, though the presence of a channeled Aegislash has divided the Noble Lords over their recognition of the current King.

Both House Le-Faye and House Lysander immediately pledge their support to House Halcyon, while both House Shabboneau and House Wikstrom counter the claim by pledging their support to House Arturia.

A war of legitimacy almost kicks off right then and there, when Theron orders Pariah to deliver the Kalosian throne to him. Pariah's attempt to decapitate Allan Arturia is interrupted by a furious Princess Diantha, who has activated Victoria's mega stone in preparation to annihilate Theron along with the better half of Parfum.

Throwing down her own ultimatum, in which Theron retracts his demand for King Allan's head, Princess Diantha diffuses the volatile situation by reminding the Noble Houses what would happen to Kalos if they were to host a civil war now.

Calling off Pariah, Theron defers to Diantha's ultimatum and assessment of the situation, and agrees to resolve the contest through non hostile channels.

Having forsaken his friendship with Princess Diantha, Theron bears a new yoke of guilt for his treason.

From there, Theron makes his appeal known to Kalos through House Lysander's media outlets. Though the public is initially skeptical of accepting a Halcyon's claim to the Kalosian Throne, widespread dissatisfaction with the current regime and Theron's consistent efforts to empower the Kalosian peasantry begin to win the people over to his cause.

Thus begins the first set of assassination attempts against Theron, as organizations seemingly unaffiliated with the current Crown make covert efforts to silence Theron Halcyon's claim to the Kalosian Throne.

Between his assets in House Halcyon, and his own preeminence as a master Channeler, Theron is able elude or survive every direct attempt against his life; though the mounting failures of the assassins result in more desperate and more bold attempts.

This eventually culminates with Sinnoh's abduction of Lady Valerie Le-Faye, whom they acquired with assistance from international ACE personnel. Staging an assassination attempt on Theron in Lumiose City, Sinnoh distracted the Eidolon King while ACE carried out the abduction of Valerie.

Due to the limitations of the Prophet's Eyes, Theron failed to recognize ACE's intentions for Valerie until it was too late to deviate from his pre-planned countermeasure against Sinnoh's assassins. Forced to contend with the assassination attempt while ACE successfully kidnapped Valerie, Theron succumbs to fury; angry at himself for endangering his betrothed; fearful for the fate of Valerie.

Due to ACE's formidable security protocols and adequate anti-distortion countermeasures, Theron is left without a trace to follow; disproving his former claims of infallibility.

Intending to coerce Theron into political submission by threatening Valerie's well being, the ACE-Sinnoh joint operation is discontinued following an enraged Theron's retaliation. Instead of pursuing the agency responsible for Valerie's abduction, Theron instead targets and obliterates the same governmental facility that authorized the operation.

This is the point in the narrative where Sinnoh's Parliament bought the farm, and where Theron ultimately submits to his role in the coming war between Kings (I.E. Operation Wounded Hearts).

After demonstrating his ability to topple regimes single-handedly, the assassination attempts against Theron cease immediately, and House Arturia is forced to consider alternative methods of contesting House Halcyon. ACE meanwhile, returns Valerie to House Le-Faye in an appeal for a peaceful surrender, which Theron accepts, though somewhat belligerently (The vendetta against Vice-Marshal Looker begins…).

Having sacrificed the last of his morality in the Sinnoh Coup, Theron begins to distance himself from Valerie due to a volatile mix of self-disgust, growing apathy, and his desire to to protect the only person he has left from both his political opponents and himself. Realizing that his relationship to Valerie has made her a prime target for opposing agencies, Theron begins the painful process of disavowing his intended marriage to Valerie, and elects to name Lady Malva of House Lysander as his Queen to be.

In order to make the separation absolute, Theron never discusses the shift in nuptials with Valerie (Though he and Lord Edwin Le-Faye discuss his reasoning for political matters). When Valerie discovers Theron's change of heart and confronts him about it, Theron ultimately resorts to cruelty to better drive Valerie away from him.

Wounded by Theron's lashing words and his abandonment, Valerie painfully forsakes her own vows to a devil; devastating Theron far more than he lets on.

Knowing that he must sacrifice everything that is dear to him if he is to have any chance of fulfilling the desired portent that was revealed to him in the Vision of the Kings, Theron reluctantly accepts Valerie's disdain for him; alternatively mourning the loss and celebrating Valerie's safety.

Enter House Lysander, whose media conglomerate has identified a surefire way to simultaneously weaken House Arturia and popularize Theron Halcyon via utilizing Kalos's League Seasonal Finals. Should Theron challenge the League and successfully oust Princess Diantha from the Champion's seat, Theron will have deprived House Arturia of their hereditary civil station, while also providing the world with a display of Theron Halcyon's prowess.

Theron acknowledges House Lysander's proposition as ideal, and Theron struggles to balance his commitments by preparing for the League Seasonal Finals while adhering to the responsibilities of his contested office's sovereign duties.

Skip ahead to the beginning of Kalos's League Seasonal Finals; the publicly acknowledged battleground for determining ownership of the Crown of Kalos. At this point in the narrative, Theron has only just begun to edge out House Arturia in domestic support, and his unofficial regime has laid the groundworks for securing foreign recognition of his legitimacy as well.

House Arturia may be growing desperate with the public's dramatic shift in loyalty; but the League is their Noble House's prime holding; theirs is the civil vocation of athletes and competition. The Noble House of Arturia has ruled over the coliseums of Mount Olympus since Kalos's founding, and they remain adamant in their conviction that no other Noble House will ever wrest the claim of supremacy from them.

In Kalos, competition in the League is an exclusive privilege of the Noble caste; reserved solely for each Noble House's Gymnase Meister and family prodigies. In times past, the League was utilized to settle disputes among the Nobility without compromising the integrity of Kalos's governing hegemony; Critical Duels were held to determine everything from the allocation of property, to the right to marriage, to the guilt or innocence of the accused.

History has returned to the Kalosian League, as the Aegislash ordained Lord Theron Halcyon rekindles tradition in an age of widespread dissent and romanticism with his claim to the Kalosian Crown.

Victory will name him both King and Champion; loss will condemn him as a traitor and a fraud.

The stakes are high, the tension is palpable; yet the Valorous Lord Halcyon betrays not a shadow of doubt or a shred of weakness in his effortless ascent through the Victory Road Trial and the following Qualifying Round.

With Theron in the League competition proper, the true contest for the rule of Kalos begins. Arrayed against him are the allies of House Arturia, congregated and unified behind their goal of realizing Theron's defeat. Yet while Theron endeavors to approach the contest with the chivalry that has garnered the support of his nation, the same can not be said of his opposition.

The snakes have come forth from their nests, and every manner of hindrance such adders can muster is presented to Theron; from suicidal assassination attempts, to sabotage, slander, and inciting hysterics; the allies of House Arturia ply their dirtiest hands against House Halcyon and their allies in the hopes of seeing Theron fall.

With the aid of his new bride-to-be Malva, a member of the Elite Four, Theron is able to compromise the unity of the Elite Four. Following his defeat at hands of Lord Theron Halcyon, Marquis Griffith Siebold of Noble House Siebold endorses his support of the Halcyon's sovereign claim; and though such endorsement is insubstantial without the Lord of House Siebold's official pledge, the unofficial declaration of loyalty nevertheless spurns on the Halcyon's public favor, and weakens House Arturia's standing in the League.

The retired Ambassador of Sinnoh, and respected confidant of House Arturia, Consul Lacuda Drasna rejects Theron's claim to the Kalosian Throne with a statement reflecting her homeland's current political affiliation; but The Prophet's tides of change has already reached into the heartlands of Sinnoh, and all of Kalos has heard tell of Sinnoh's swiftly polarizing domestic perspective of _King Theron Halcyon_ , _The Emancipator of Sinnoh_.

Lord Wikstrom publicly denounces Theron as both a charlatan and a traitor, but as with all prior members of the Elite Four, he too falls to Theron's wraiths, and the Iron Lord's accusations are discredited in the humiliation of his defeat. Leaving but one more obstacle between Theron and his right to Challenge the current Kalosian Champion.

Theron's fellow forth quota victor and similarly branded quad-flame finalist: Gymnaise Meister Lady Valerie Le-Faye of Noble House Le-Faye; who through the personalized and targeted influences of House Arturia, has come to regard her ex-fiance with scorn and revulsion.

Theron is forced to battle and defeat the only thing he truly loves, in what becomes his greatest struggle to date. Valerie shows him no quarter or mercy, and though he stays true the codes of chivalry throughout her slurs and insults, Theron is deeply wounded by the outcome of a battle he never wanted to win.

Passing on an opportunity to settle an old grudge against Empousa, Valerie's Mega-Evolved Mawile, lifelong companion, and childhood mutilator; Theron demonstrates his unwillingness to harm Valerie, forfeiting his grudge in favor of preserving his beloved's sole remaining comfort, showing Valerie but a brief hint of the man behind the devil's mask.

Though Valerie recognizes both Theron's mercy and his guilt, she cannot bring herself to forgive him for his rejection. Though her cruel words and resentment lessens, Valerie Le-Faye returns to Arturia's side after her defeat; diminished and uncertain; at conflict with the pangs and longings of her heart.

Yet even as old passions are stirred and crushed, Theron's bitter victory paves the way for the final battle with Princess Diantha of Royal House Arturia; Champion to the Kalosian League.

And so the war begins, with Theron in the Challenger's Corner, and Diantha in the Champion's seat.

Mad with grief, furious beyond any former resentment, Theron deliberately sacrifices his own assets in the battle that follows; as he does everything he can to inflict as much of his own loss and suffering on his bitter and lethal opponent.

Though the casualties that Theron accrues early on are dire, he succeeds in tormenting, desecrating, and murdering every monster that Diantha pits against him and his wraiths; whittling at Diantha's resolve and stabbing at her heart, one pitiful and inhumane execution at a time.

Reserving Exodus as his Trump Card, Theron relies heavily on both Typhon and Pariah to secure him victory in the penultimate stage of his battle with Diantha. By the time that Theron has reduced Diantha to her Trump Card, the Champion of Kalos can barely maintain her composure.

Having been forced to helplessly standby and watch the agonizing deaths of those closest to her, Diantha holds back her tears and decries Theron as a monster; before releasing Victoria from the limits of the Para-Kingdom's evolution; infusing the Valkyrie of Kalos with a power that only Gods were ever meant to know.

After losing both Typhon and Pariah to Victoria's brilliant retribution, Theron releases Exodus from a similar restraint, and the hoary God of Nightmares subjects the entire League compound to the sterile agony of his white shadow.

While Exodus challenges Victoria in the contested confines of an inverted Distortion Rift, Theron focuses his attentions on Diantha; torturing her with verbatim from the friendship they once shared, and reveling in the devilry that she and her brother brought out of him.

The battle ends in what seems to be a victory for Diantha; as a stalemate maintained over control of the inverted Distortion rift is broken, resulting in the apparent banishment of Exodus; but the brief illusion of Arturia's triumph is a ruse orchestrated by Theron; the punchline to a cruel joke that he's been playing against Diantha since the beginning of their final battle.

Victoria has been under Exodus's control from the very beginning of the match; the dramatic battle between them serving only as a distraction from the inevitable; inspiring Diantha with the hope of victory, before Theron invariably crushes that inspiration with a visceral finale.

Theron orders Victoria to kill herself, and Exodus tears the Gardevoir's heart from the babaylan's breast with her own bare hand, before a grinning and possessed Victoria presents the wraith's throbbing trophy to Princess Diantha, mere moments before Exodus releases Victoria from his control.

Dying in horror, Victoria is made numb to the comforting cradle of Diantha's loving arms, while a silent Theron merely watches as his final blow is dealt.

Grieving more so for the inhumane loss of her friends than for the costly loss of the battle, a sobbing Diantha takes no notice of Theron as he strides past the fallen Champion without so much as an expression on his face or a word offered in whisper, before the Eidolon King quietly assumes his rightful seat in the Kalosian League Throne Room.

Story cuts ahead a couple months. Theron has ironed out the finishing touches for his ascent to the Kalosian Throne, but abstains from acting out any notable civil duty. His marriage to Malva is put on indefinite hold, his public addresses have waned in frequency to the point of being posthumously labelled a prolonged silence, and Theron has invoked controversy with the leaders of his supporting Noble Houses by not taking advantage of the current situation, and declaring a coup on House Arturia with the public's overwhelming support backing him.

Theron, as a political figure, has reached his prime. As a King in everything but title, a single call to action is all that separates Theron from claiming the Kalosian Crown for himself.

But as a person, Theron has never been weaker. Second guessing his every prior decision, and grieving for the cost of his ascent to power, we see Theron as a wounded and weary King, well before the Crown has even adorned his haunted head.

Fearing for the fate of Kalos should he assume power, Theron works out a private deal with Arturia's disheveled heads of House; in an effort to stabilize as many loose ends as he can in his homeland, while limiting his own commitment to domestic affairs.

Theron agrees to abscond from Kalos entirely and uphold a secret truce, leaving the rule of the nation in dispute by splitting the sovereign powers of the nation between himself and Allan Arturia; Princess Diantha meanwhile, will be reinstated as the honorary Champion of Kalos in Theron's absence. Theron's only demand in the agreement is that House Arturia ensures the health and well being of Lady Valerie Le-Faye as long as her life permits, and extends to her all the doting comforts that a proper King would administer to his beloved and dying Queen.

The terms of the secret truce are agreed to, leaving only Theron, King Allen, and Princess Diantha any wiser to the unforeseen political development. In conclusion of the agreement, Theron commits himself exclusively to the agenda that has driven him to this end, and travels through the Distortion to attend an appointment with Indigo's High Justiciar Adamus Oscarin III; finally revealing the depth of his loss by conceding to his greatest fear, and acknowledging his existence as a living wraith.

Book II ends just days before Theron's first encounter with Zane in Viridian's Shuttle Terminal, and the epilogue leading to Book III is provided with the very first detailed narration of Theron's Vision of the Kings; alongside the revelation and acknowledgement of a Third King, their identity yet unknown to the audience or the cast.

...

 _Sorry it took so long to get this finished; production was interrupted by a much needed vacation. It was quite pleasing to see a bit more of the world through the US's National Parks. The wild country out west is absolutely beautiful, and I loved every second of it. From hiking through the desolate Badlands and Wind Caves of South Dakota, to backpacking along the jaw dropping geological formations of Utah's Arches and Canyonlands. Special shoutout to Colorado's National Monument Park; the area was gorgeous, the local history was rich with selfless passion and human triumph, the Park Rangers were some of the most good natured civil servants that I've ever met, and the campsite's immaculate bathroom was an unexpected luxury after four days of filling catholes in 100 plus degree weather._

 _All in all, it was a good trip through some much loved and long-missed country. Hope you guys make excellent use of your summers as well; I'll crack out Book III's plot summary when I'm able to._


	7. TSoK, Book 3: Summarized Plotline

_._

 _Okay, first off I want to address the intended change in chapter format for Book III. The traditional "reveal" at the header of each chapter was to be replaced with a snippet of Enzo's autobiography; expanding his backstory as the main narrative carried on as per usual. Enzo relates his backstory as a list of events and highlights; his first victory in a pokemon battle; the first pokemon he captured; yada, yada… Basic character building BS._

 _But every entry in Enzo's log was to be finished with a supposition; reflection leading to doubt; doubt leading to rationalization; rationalization ending in submission. Enzo's early days are pretty miserable, what with him combating starvation, homelessness, dysentery, solitude, shame and confusion; but there are brilliant moments of relief that Enzo sought to exploit to their fullness._

 _Despite the misery of his circumstance, young Enzo is portrayed a happy go-lucky introvert; who slowly begins to realize that he has utter mastery over his impulses during times of duress. Whereas most others panic and defer to compulsion under stress; Enzo enters a calm and analytic state. This curious behavior allows Enzo to keep his cool during even the most gruelling of challenges, and as he grows more accustomed to the mannerisms of his fellow trainers during battle; Enzo begins develop his "gameface"._

 _Long and short of it: Enzo proves to be a hard card to read, and rather apt at interpreting and predicting both his opponents' intentions and their next moves. Realizing this advantage, Enzo formulates his competitive roster with countering in mind, rather than committing to a lineup that's designed to overwhelm his opponents through subversion (like Theron's team) or establish victory through attrition (like Zane's team)._

 _As such, Enzo prove to be a rare flavor of strategy, one that is almost impossible to match in the lower ranks of the League. In seeking to improve his approach to battles, Enzo begins to horde information in regards to both the Para-Kingdom and Human psychology. This leads to Enzo self-educating himself in advanced scientific fields. While his education lacks the cohesion and discipline of orthodox academia, Enzo's quick wits and innovative perspective compensate for most of the discrepancies in his methodology._

 _Later in his League career (after he'd made a substantial profit), Enzo began to explore genetics and psonicology; finding his true calling in the development of experimental "procedures". While his early attempts at genetics were admittedly crude (lots of selective breeding and amateur gene-therepy), Enzo did realize a lineage of "superior" pokemon; pokemon that had been bred exclusively for battles, who bore exaggerated traits that aided them in such contests._

 _These were technically the first "Chimera" pokemon, which Enzo began to market on commission, which provided him with a modest and stable income; enough that when combined with his League earnings, were able to fund the construction of his very first official lab (Think Breaking Bad's Trailer Meth Lab; only with unethical biological experimentation in mind, rather than meth production)._

 _The very first "true" Chimera pokemon produced by the Davinci Lab was a mutated Axew; a male dragon bearing a notable discoloration and heightened levels of intelligence. Dubbing this prototype "Tenacious," (given the Axew's sheer stubbornness), Enzo administered his first full-scale gene therapy to the hatchling; both conditioning it for prolonged battle and accelerating its growth._

 _Tenacious soon became the star of Enzo's team, and established a fierce rivalry with Darmy, Enzo's first pokemon/best friend. Though Darmy approved of Tenacious's skill in battle, the wise Darmanitan viewed the dragon's temperament as a liability, and sought to curb Tenacious's warlust with discipline._

 _Though Darmy was only partially successful in his this venture, Tenacious did learn enough self-control to empathize with both Darmy and Enzo; forming a fast friendship between the three. Discovering the advantages of Darmy's discipline when applied to battle, Tenacious began to emulate Enzo's competitive conduct. Due to Tenacious's borderline sapient intelligence, the young dragon became almost as accomplished as his Trainer in developing and enacting stratagems._

 _This similarity in approach casted the illusion of a master trainer and his masterfully trained dragon; however, the truth is that this union is maintained by mutual tactics complimenting each other in execution. While there is both respect and affection between Enzo and Tenacious, Tenacious doesn't truly "obey" Enzo; they just think and act so similarly during battle that it's impossible to discern command/function from function/function._

 _But in traditional TSoK fashion, something bad always follows something good; and in this case, Enzo's lifelong friend and companion dies in a Championship match. RIP Darmy._

 _Grief has an adverse effect on Enzo, and the loss of his final family member, compounded with the Trainer's guilt of having put Darmy in the situation that took his life; ultimately breaks Enzo._

 _Enzo as good as loses his mind. While he may have come across as a bit eccentric before he lost Darmy, true madness takes Enzo, and the nigh incomprehensible lunatic burns down his own lab before a grief-stricken Enzo releases all of his pokemon back into the wild to keep them "safe from himself"._

 _But when it comes to releasing his number 2, Tenacious, things don't go quite as… intended._

 _Tenacious is greatly offended by Enzo's abandonment, and the furious Haxorus refuses to be denied his birthright. Having been born and raised a dragonslayer, Tenacious's ambitions include the conquest of the Indigo League's decade long reigning Champion: Lance Drakengard._

 _And not even Enzo's senseless snivelings are going to dissuade Tenacious from his throne._

 _Tenacious knocks Enzo out, and drags his unconcious Trainer to the Indigo League Seasonal Finals. Essentially threatening to kill Enzo should he attempt to abstain from participation, Tenacious forces entry into Victory Road trial; with only a terrified (and clinically insane) Enzo for support._

 _Despite their obvious disadvantages, Enzo and Tenacious make it through the Victory Road trial with flying colors; and upon entering the Qualifying Round, Enzo rediscovers his state of mind in the duress of competitive battling. Acting as more of an advisor and consultant to Tenacious than as a commander, Enzo affords his dragon with the advantage of paradigm analytics; similar tactics developed from distinctly different perspectives._

 _Between Tenacious's nigh-exclusive hereditary advantage; dragon-pedigree; fierce intelligence, unshakable confidence, and Enzo's encyclopedic knowledge, the pair literally waltz through the worst the League can offer, stunning everyone spectating the unexpected slaughter._

 _After crushing Giovanni in the fourth-quota victor finale, which followed the defeat of the Elite Four, Enzo and Tenacious establish themselves as overnight legends. The writing is on the wall; Enzo Davinci is the last contest that Lance Drakengard will answer as Indigo's Champion._

 _But Enzo's sanity is still very much absent, and the disturbed analyst has been straining himself to ensure Tenacious's survival throughout this reckless foray into the League Finals. The stress is further compounded by the commercial race to buy Enzo. Hit from all sides with ludicrous offers and invasive political stunts, Enzo snaps yet again, and pulls out of the final match at the very last moment. Never announcing his forfeit notice, and failing to attend the match as expected, the League is thrown into utter hubbub, as wild speculation and mass confusion feeds the hysteria…_

 _...Until a report from Celadon City comes in, having located the missing Enzo Davinci in a Donut Shop, casually binging away on his favorite trash food._

 _After having generated so much drama with his spectacle in the League, Enzo retires from competitive battling and commits himself to his favored pastime: playing up the mad genius in a laboratory. His legendary exploits in the League garner lavish commissions, and over time, Chimera Industries builds up around Enzo Davinci._

 _Having discovered a sense of clarity in rebuilding his relationship with Tenacious, Enzo returns to his eccentric status, though his madness is still apparent in his social interactions._

 _From there, Enzo meanders over many of his defining moments in Chimera, from receiving an Indigo Commissioned Grant, which funded development of the Waterloo Division; A Chimera subsidiary that researches and develops warmon for Indigo's military divisions; to his work with the Devon and Silph Companies in developing artificial pokemon (Beldum and Porygon, respectively)._

 _The successes of Waterloo are the primary focus in Enzo's reflections though, as his military grants ultimately leads to Enzo's inclusion in numerous Black Projects; one of which included the attempted weaponization of a former Black Project's "failure."_

 _The only stable analogue developed during the Mew-0 Project: Ditto._

 _Though Waterloo fails to weaponize Ditto, the unique and curious properties of the artificial organism prompt an obsession from Enzo Davinci, spurring him on to piece together what little public information is available of the leaked and decommissioned Mew-0 Project._

 _This pursuit of undisclosed information ultimately leads to a familiar face from Enzo's past in the League: Giovanni Delimonto, who was suspected of serving as the Director of ACE during the Mew-0 Project's commission._

 _Despite the highly controversial and extremely sensitive topic, Giovanni Delimonto privately debriefs Enzo on the Mew-0 Project, going as far as to state the project's intentions and snippets from the recorded itinerary of the project's Chief Science Director: Doctor Fuji._

 _Recommending that Enzo takes the matter up with his ACE contacts in Waterloo, Giovanni silently grants Enzo a vote of confidence; which saves Enzo from his likely assassination when the matter is breached with the current Director of ACE._

 _Volunteering to pick up where Doctor Fuji left off, Enzo's fascination with the Mew-0 project (and his conflicting views on religion and science) leads to the project's official revival._

 _Waterloo commits the majority of its available assets to this revived project; and ACE entrusts Enzo with the most valuable remnant from the Mew-0 Project: Zygote Zero._

 _Having been artificially constructed from the sourced genetic codes of all known pokemon species, Zygote Zero represents a half century's worth of phylogenetic cartography and gene identification/acquisition. Having traced the junk genetic codes all the way back to the original sequence, Zygote Zero was painstakingly crafted to gestate into the original pokemon: Mew._

 _However, Zygote Zero is highly unstable. Once gestation begins, the zygote undergoes exceedingly rapid and uncontrollable mutations. Most offshoots of Zygote Zero go terminal before they can achieve stable development; sometimes the most the mutations realize is rapidly decaying viral organisms; and very, very, very rarely do the mutations actually result in a stable organism, such as Ditto; which can't even come close to achieving the Mew-0 Project's stated goal._

 _Zygote Zero is missing some vital links in its phylogenetic sequence, and Enzo realizes that the zygote could potentially be stabilized by filling in these missing links; but the only analogues that presumably carry such vital genes are exclusive to the Lima-Index; Pokemon that were so successful early on into their evolutionary history that they have remained both unchanged and dominant in whatever ecosystem they inhabit._

 _Unfortunately for the Mew-0 Project, these genes are not only exceeding rare, but deemed "impossible" to retrieve, given the incredible dangers associated with encountering a pokemon from the Lima-Index._

 _But a fresh acquaintance from the Ranger Corps ultimately scores Enzo the paydirt he needs to finish the Mew-0 Project; Second-Lieutenant Zane Bastard of the Ranger Corps achieves the impossible by slaying a Lima-One specimen: Articuno._

 _Waterloo acquires the deceased specimen, and the Para-Kingdom's phylogenetic tree is grossly expanded, thanks to the genetic profile of this one previously unobtainable specimen._

 _Identifying a completely new phylum, presumably exclusive to members of the Lima-Index, Enzo discovers direct parentage from Mew in Articuno's ancestry. With an almost flawless genetic model to draw from, Enzo begins patching the numerous flaws in Doctor Fuji's Zygote Zero; making dramatic headway in the revived Mew-0 Project._

 _With the Mew-0 Project finally in a state where it can develop without his constant supervision, Enzo elects to take a holiday. Due to his correspondence with Zane Bastard, Enzo shocks Indigo by announcing his intention of returning to the Indigo League Finals; not as a competitor, but rather as a spectator. Enzo completes his biography to the present day; optimistic of the future and carefree as to the ramifications of the Mew-0 Project._

 _Acknowledging this particular League season as exceptional, due to a pair of nigh-mythical Trainers (Zane and Theron) competing for Indigo's Throne, Enzo confesses his excitement, and states that he hopes this world is ready for Zane and Theron's contest._

 _*From this point on, the Chapter "reveals" work themselves into the main narrative's timeframe; returning more or less to their original role as background devices. Enzo remains the primary focus in these reveals, though rather than relate his story through first-person reflections, the reveals' narrative assumes a third-person perspective of current events._

Book III resumes from Zane's perspective; location Viridian City. Lieutenant-Captain Zane Bastard is prepping for his final Gym Challenge with Giovanni Delimonto. Every Gym Battle since Celedon has been a farce, thanks to Darwin, but due to the location of Giovanni's arena…

...Darwin is going to have to sit this one out, and Zane will be taking on a Quad-Flame Champion's six mon team with only five mon.

Giovanni's Gym differs drastically compared to many of his League colleagues. As mentioned prior, Giovanni only accepts and recognizes Unrestricted Championship Challenges; all other contests aren't worth his time. Giovanni's Gym matches are always private, no recordings or spectators permitted.

Due to Giovanni's status as a Quad-Flame finalist with a consistent record of Elite Four Wipes throughout the two decades he's competed in, Giovanni is recognized as one of Indigo's most accomplished League Competitors. Thanks to his reputation and the requirements for challenging his Gym, Giovanni's challengers are treated to an exclusive experience, quite unlike the experiences offered in any other Gym.

Before the contestants are even shown the stage, they're treated to a private banquet with their host. To say that Giovanni assumes a more personal approach to hosting his challengers is a bit of an understatement. If a Trainer has both the guff and the balls required to meet Giovanni in the ring, then they've earned a courtesy dinner from him.

Needless to say, the paparazzi isn't even allowed on the Gym property, so after muscling his way through the fanatic crowd, Zane is brought directly to the Gym compound's dining hall, where his host awaits.

The wait staff may be unusually bulky, and perhaps too heavily scarred to be butlers anywhere else, but Zane writes it off as Giovanni's interest in security. It's only after the first course is served that Giovanni deigns it appropriate to strike up a conversation with Zane.

Apart from a formal introduction, Giovanni is all business. While other Gym Leaders have paraded an image, Giovanni makes no such compromise. Giovanni is confidant in his capabilities, but not cocky. He acknowledges the possibility of his defeat, and from stating that possibility, Giovanni petitions Zane for his plans following such a defeat.

Impressed with Giovanni's demeanor and accommodations, Zane abstains from his endorsing typical abrasive attitude. Respectfully filling Giovanni in on his plans to seize Indigo's Throne, Giovanni reveals an unnerving awareness of both the Ranger Corp's and ACE's role in Zane's ascent.

Giovanni is not an ignorant man, by any stretch of the imagination; he is intimately familiar with the going ons of ACE, and even breaches League Confidentiality to drop a curious little nugget of information Zane's way.

Zane is not the only high-priority contender in the 1,075th Indigo League Seasonal Finals. Another contender with a legendary background has been working in the shadows to secure a foothold in the ten-seventy-fifth as well.

Lord Theron Virgil Halcyon, who privately decimated the entire Johto Gym Division in little less than a week; going as far as meeting multiple Gym Challenges a day, all with same registered team.

While Zane seems surprised to discover that Theron is competing in the Indigo League, he cannot afford to ponder it now. The final course is almost finished, and his host demands the fullness of Zane's attention.

Hinting at the possible consequences of a foreign statesmen claiming the Indigo Champion's legislative powers, Giovanni stresses the need for Theron to be stopped. Stating that he himself will be competing primarily to see Theron's downfall, Giovanni confides that the likelihood of himself (or any other Gym Leader) besting the Eidolon King are slim.

Commenting that the League is currently prepping its best to take out Theron, Giovanni announces his reason for debriefing Zane.

As it currently stands, Zane is Indigo's best counter to Theron's ascent, and this Gym Battle will determine whether or not that faith is well placed.

Leaving the dining hall and making the rest of the journey by private shuttle, Giovanni leads Zane to his subterranean arena; a location far too confined to accommodate Darwin's massive scale.

From there, the Gym battle commences. Zane leads with his recently evolved Tyranitar, Ramses, in response to Giovanni's monstrously oversized Nidoking lead.

Though the ensuing battle is grueling, the Bastards start off on a strong note, and they never forfeit that advantage. Zane, Ramses, Mac, Vauban, Cortez, and Damascus all prove their worth, toppling Giovanni's Championship team. Pleased with the reaffirmation of Indigo's Guardian, Giovanni grants Zane the Earth Badge, and the journey to Indigo begins.

From there, the narrative cuts to Indigo, where the Finalist hopefuls are amassing for the Victory Road Trial. Among the many names are familiar faces; Derek has earned his eight badges and greets Zane heartily; Brock finally shakes Zane's hand in congratulations; Misty refuses to even acknowledge Zane; Lt. Surge can't help but humiliate Zane; so on, and so on.

But one familiar face is less eager to meet with Zane, at least not in public; Theron Halcyon does his damnedest to avoid Zane's familiar advances, but once the pair are alone…

...Their exchange is far from the expected hostility.

Greeting Theron as he would a brother, Zane reports that everything has gone according to plan. While he's known for ages that Theron would be competing in the League (Since Vermilion City at any rate), Zane is a bit concerned about the possibility of them crossing paths in the competition. Theron surprises Zane by stating that the two competing against one another was part of the plan all along.

Zane is disturbed by this reveal, and asks if this means that Theron is going to throw the match; seeing as Theron and Zane planned to have Zane claim Indigo's Throne.

Theron replies by saying that because of recent developments, he must relinquish the role of failsafe. When they meet in the competition, Theron will be coming at Zane with everything he has.

Furious at the change in plans, Zane demands an explanation. Theron only gives Zane a dire hint:

Against the odds of causality, ACE had a landslide development in Operation Wounded Hearts quite recently; a development that could potentially render Theron and Zane's roles in the unfolding operation obsolete. It has become imperative that the strongest succeeds in the League, now that Zane and Theron no longer have the luxury of ACE's dependency on them.

Though he's still pissed at Theron for the mutual divergence in their agenda, Zane takes Theron's assessment at face value. While Zane would rather avoid the legislative responsibilities of Indigo's Champion, he'd much rather manage that responsibility than let the Eidolon King claim it. Confidant in his ability to best the Theron, Zane sets off for the Victory Road Trial's starting line.

The Victory Road Trial hails back to tradition; it is the first contest in the League, intended to weed the weak from the strong. The Victory Road Trial is not a battle between trainers, but rather, a trial held to determine their preparedness for the competition.

Spanning an enclosed reserve populated by some of the most dangerous species of mon known, the Victory Road Trial is a wilderness survival race through hostile territory. Trainers have one day to get from the starting point of the reserve, to the finish line at the Indigo League Coliseum.

Nearly thirty-five kilometers separate the starting point from the finish line; there are no roads, no waysides, no accommodations, and the only paths through the rugged and uneven terrain are the game trails made by the indigenous mon.

Trainers are only permitted to carry the standard wilderness survival kit and their registered League Finals Team. How Trainers cross the terrain is up to personal discretion; straight as the Murkrow flies, or as sneaky as a Sneasel. Trainers are forbidden from using their flight pokemon for aviation, any violators will be disqualified. In the event of impending peril, a Trainer can request aid from League Watchmen; but any aid granted will disqualify requestees, so this is generally reserved for life or death circumstances.

Given the stakes, many ambitious Trainers have perished during the Victory Road Trial when their pride came before a fall.

For Ranger Corps trained Zane, the Victory Road Trial is child's play, made even more menial by Cortez's pathfinder skills. For Theron…

...Well, the rules were never written in awareness of Typhon's Distortion Shepherding capabilities. Thanks to Typhon's exclusive privilege, Theron crosses the finish line mere seconds after the race began.

Needless to say, both characters make it to the end without conflict, preserving their pokemons' health and strength for the competition where it is needed.

Zane and Theron pass the qualifying round without a hitch, though the competition begins to show its strain during the first quota stage. During the quota stages, challengers square off against one another to progress through the League Finals. Challengers who failed to pace themselves in the Victory Road Trial are already exhausting their teams, and those that have made it this far are willing to throw everything on the board for a chance at making the first quota victor rank; where they will have the predilection of which Elite Four member they wish to challenge first; all in the hopes that they can secure at least one Flame on their Finalist License.

I'll spare you all the suspense (and me the time); Zane and Theron achieve the first quota victor rank in their respective divisions, humiliate their Elite Four opponents (Zane starts with Bruno; Theron starts with Agatha), proceed to the second quota victor rank in their divisions, beat the next Elite Four member (Zane tackles Lorelei; Theron takes out Bruno); before making it to the third quota victor rank, and beat the snot out of the next Elite Four member (Both Zane and Theron wipe out Koga).

Getting this far in the Finals takes about two weeks, and once the fourth quota stage picks up, the amount of active contenders have been reduced to a fraction of the original roster. At this point, even the Bastards are slipping up, due to both exhaustion and prior injuries. Nevertheless the event proceeds smoothly, right up until the penultimate match in the fourth quota stage.

It is in this match that Zane squares off against a Kurosawa Ninja, who may not actually be competing for the throne.

The final bout of the match has forced Zane into deploying Vauban, just to have a prayer against his opponent's Toxicroak and its poisoning antics. Damascus was too slow to do anything but exhaust himself, Darwin can't coordinate an attack on such a nimble adversary without razing half of the Coliseum (cons of being gargantuan), and Mac's only recourse is to sleep off the toxin while the Toxicroak recovers.

Zane doesn't realize it, but he's played right into the Ninja's hands. Once Vauban is deployed, the Toxicroak commits to a suicidal attack, which curiously involves envenoming Vauban; a tactic that the Ninja should know is ineffective, given the Saboteur Class's constitution for all things poison.

But Vauban handily dispatches the reckless Toxicroak, and wins Zane the fourth quota victor title; right before everything starts going to hell.

Vauban wasn't injected with venom; the Toxicroak's venom glands had been surgically altered to deliver an artificial secretion…

...A secretion comprised of the hormones required to stimulate septic overload and hyper-metabolism in the Saboteur Class.

Zane knows that something has gone very wrong when Vauban begins to seizure after the League announces their victory. When the bloody froth oozing from her mouth begins to display signs of internal necrosis, Zane finally figures out what's happening to his little girl.

Vauban's biomass is rapidly converting itself into a virulent aerosol. Once her body fills with enough gas, her abdomen will rupture, spilling a payload of lethal spores and toxic allergenics over a wide radius, while her dying bulb vents as much of the accumulating poisons as it can.

Zane's worst nightmare has come to fruition: Vauban has been turned into a bomb, and all Zane can do is helplessly watch as his little girl undergoes priming for detonation.

Word gets out that the Indigo League Coliseum is about to become ground zero for a Waterloo Saboteur, and panic reigns. Despite the futility of escape, everyone is attempting to vacate predicted parameters before detonation. All except for Enzo Davinci, who understands what's happening and knows how to stop it.

Enzo and Tenacious fight through the mass hysteria to the arena grounds, where a desperate Zane is doing everything he can to save his Vauban; completely forgetting his own well-being or the well-being of Indigo's population. When Enzo steps in to help, Zane experiences a moment of relief.

Damascus's Savoir is here; the Lunatic Hippie of Legend; the man who designed the Saboteur Class, and knows such beasts inside and out.

So you can imagine Zane's reaction when Enzo's first order of business is to order for Vauban's decapitation.

Which Tenacious carries out, as Enzo forcibly pulls a screaming Zane away.

While severing Vauban's spinal cord has prevented detonation, her remains are still undergoing conversion. Dragging Zane away from a delicate situation, Enzo does his best to console the stricken Ranger, who is has having difficulty accepting the death of his little girl.

After cutting some onions, the narrative shifts to a private meeting between Zane, Koga, and Theron. Koga pleads ignorance of the attack, stating that he authorized no such action. Theron backs this up with his own account, stating that an investigation into the offending ninja's proclivities revealed connections to ACE; which Koga had no prior knowledge of.

The motive for the attack is made clear by Theron: ACE commissioned their mole in the Kurosawa clan to carry out the activation of a Saboteur unit, with the expressed goal of assassinating Lord Theron Halcyon; who at the time, was within the effective radius of the Saboteur's dispersal.

It seems that the Black King and the White King are no longer required for realizing Operation Wounded Hearts; if anything, the Black King represents a threat to the Operation, and ACE is willing to kill hundreds of thousands just to remove him from the picture.

This leads to Theron and Zane tracking down the Kurosawa ninja's ACE handlers. Agent Stockholm, Denethor, and Matusik get one last shot at screen time, before Theron graphically murders them all. From there, Theron utilizes the deceased Agents' communication device to contact the Director of ACE, with Zane in silent attendance. Theron then proceeds to goad an explanation out of the Director: Enzo Davinci has resolved ACE's need for underhanded political tactics, because Waterloo's latest Black Project…

...has put ACE is a position where they can do whatever they please.

Meanwhile, Enzo has bailed on the League, and is returning to his office at the Ranch. The formula used to trigger the Saboteur units was secretly developed by Waterloo; as such, Waterloo and the Indigo Military are the only organizations who should even have the stuff. A thorough check of Waterloo's inventory and their shipments to the Military confirms a "misappropriated" delivery, whose report was blackout by ACE personal.

Enzo puts two and two together, and realizes that ACE just about killed him and a city's worth of civilians. No longer trusting their intentions, and realizing the threat represented by ACE owning a resurrected Lima-Two, Enzo immediately begins to shutdown the Mew-0 project and destroy all of its research and assets.

Which draws the attention of ACE, who send their Whitetails out to clean up the liability known as Enzo Davinci.

With Enzo distracted by an unexpected call from the Director of ACE, the Whitetails move in. Enzo isn't dumb or unprepared however, and the lunatic hippie puts his Ranch on lock-down, while he evacuates his staff by "firing" everyone.

As the ACE Director attempts to stall Enzo while the Whitetails make their way through the Ranch's security, taunts turn to furious outbursts when Enzo seizes Zygote Zero, and in an act of self-sacrifice, injects it directly into his neck.

Killing the zygote is far from easy, due to its highly adaptive traits; subject it fire, and it will instantly build up a tolerance for those temperatures. Hit it with a hammer, and it will instantly build up a carapace. Now that the zygote has been stabilized, it can evolve faster than Enzo can kill it.

So if Enzo can't kill the zygote, he'll have to settle for contaminating it. Intending to let his immunity system's response to invasive material taint the culture, and thereby destabilize the zygote, Enzo sacrifices himself to incite malignant mutations in the zygote, which will sooner gestate into a giant tumor before it will a Mew clone.

To Enzo's credit, he succeeds in destabilizing the zygote. Unfortunately, while it was irreparably corrupted, the zygote assimilated Enzo's biology into its adaptive formula, and the resulting abomination led to the development of the Mew-1 prototype; a weaponized adaptation of Zygote Zero that displays a psionic latency far beyond the Mew clone's predicted capabilities.

Despite this obscene potential, the Mew-1 prototype is far from perfect. Due to Enzo's sacrifice, the Mew-1 prototype is trapped in a perpetually critical state; its biologics are constantly failing, and only constant artificial life support and daily organ transplants can keep it alive.

While Enzo's brain was incorporated into the zygote's adaptive formula, ACE had him lobotomized before the mutation could completely assimilate his identity. Caged in a neural inhibitor harness specifically designed to restrict the Mew-1 prototype's bio-EM reflexes, Enzo is as much a prisoner of the mind as he is a prisoner of ACE.

Cut back to the League. ACE is still unaware of Theron's accomplice in Zane. Keeping their cards close to their chests, Theron and Zane agree that so long as ACE assumes that Zane is still working for them, then the pair have a plan B should something unexpected occur.

Zane and Theron topple the last members of the Elite Four, and both achieve the rank of Fourth Quota Victor; of which there is only ever a maximum of two. In order to Challenge Lance, one of them must secede from the competition, and the traditional way of settling this dispute is through combat.

Zane and Theron are slated to battle one another for the first time. Having lost Vauban in the closing round of the fourth quota stage, Zane has only five exhausted pokemon to battle Theron's team with. The League Analysts have already stated the likelihood of Theron's victory, though many remain hopeful for one of Zane's controversial comebacks. Among the Zane hopefuls is Lance Drakengard, who in a private address to Zane; swears to throw the Champion match should Zane defeat Theron.

Clearly more interested in seeing the Eidolon King kicked out of Indigo than he is with maintaining his title, Lance confesses that he doesn't have the beans required to stop the Eidolon King. Acknowledging the murder of Vauban as an event that cheated Zane of a fair fight against Theron and Lance, Lance wishes to both incentivize Zane into beating Theron, as well as make recompenses for the injustice that Zane suffered in the League.

The day of battle however, reveals a curious twist. Out of respect for Zane, Theron benches Grigori at the very start of the match, evening the playing field out for Zane with a five-on-five match.

The battle that follows is as terrifying as it is emotional. Zane is putting everything he's got left into the fight, and Theron is showing no further mercies. First Ramses falls, then Mac avenges her by taking out Demeter. Mac then falls to Thanatos. Damascus barely defeats Thanatos, but he still manages to put a dent in Pariah before going down. Then Cortez finishes off Pariah, before Typhon reaps the field.

With only Darwin left, Zane pits his Midgard Serpent against Theron's Oceanic Monstrosity, and though the battle is close, Darwin defeats Typhon.

Leaving Zane with only a wounded Darwin to challenge Theron's unmarred Exodus.

For the first time since the Kalosian League, Theron triggers Exodus's Mega Evolution, and the White Shadow rises to contest the might the Midgard.

The Battle ends with Theron's victory and Zane's first defeat.

Zane doesn't spectate Theron's match against Lance, but it goes down as you'd expect. Theron crushes Lance without even using his keystone, and claims the seat of Indigo's Champion.

Following the public "celebration" (no one is happy that Theron took the throne), Zane invites Theron to a private celebration that is far from celebratory. When Theron's opening statement is:

"I've had Vauban's ashes interred in a private cemetery for you."

...It kinda sets the mood.

During the exchange, Zane finally empties the last bit of Colonel Howe's gifted scotch, sharing it in a toast with Theron.

But rather than congratulate Theron on his victory in the League, Zane instead toasts the health and happiness of their better halves…

...A toast that curiously subdues Theron.

When Zane inquires as to their plans from here on out, Theron sighs, and informs Zane that his part is over. Zane has earned his rest, and Theron will take over from here. Inquiring as to whether or not Theron intends to uphold his agreement to support the Ranger Corps as Indigo's Champion, Theron laughs, and confirms that he's already reviewing Indigo's proposed budget plan, and paying a close eye to the amount allocated to the Ranger Corps.

With one last pat on the back, the two characters depart.

In the months following the Indigo League's 1,075 Seasonal Finals, Theron is pronounced King of Kalos when a desperate Allan Arturia attempts to match the Eidolon King's claim to sovereignty, and summons an Aegislash, which beheads him and ends the civil dispute in Kalos.

Zane meanwhile, returns to his duty in Corps, and lives out his childhood dream as a Blackhat; a bit more somber now, without Vauban's cheery face at his side.

And then the bittersweet ending you all thought this was leading up to is dashed, when Theron goes missing, and the Brink begins to destabilize.

The nature of the Brink is FINALLY explained to the audience. It is an Einstein-Rosen Bridge that appeared in earth's atmosphere above Oceania some fifteen hundred years ago. While the Brink was initially perceived as too incohesive to manifest a wormhole, an unexplained anomaly triggered a collapse at its event horizon, and the Brink literally vomited up an alien world's (or possibly worlds') detritus and debris.

Earth was swimming in a deluge of alien planet mass; which carried with it a miraculous passenger:

Life.

Incredibly resilient and highly adaptive organisms, later dubbed "Pokemon," were introduced to Earth's ecosystem courtesy of the Brink Collapse.

And when these organisms attempted to assimilate with earth's indigenous ecosystem…

...They dominated all of earth's indigenous life forms.

Which almost resulted in the extinction of mankind.

...And if the latest telemetry on the Brink is anything to go by, a second collapse could be imminent.

Which brings Zane to an emergency ACE debriefing. ACE knows why the Brink is reacting after having lain dormant for so long:

Something at the Helios Brink Observatory is agitating the Brink, and ACE suspects Theron Halcyon's involvement.

Zane and the rest of Blackhat Team Seven are marshaled into Oceania as scouts, while ACE attempts to calm tensions among the various governments and rally troops for responding to the potential crisis of a Second Collapse.

The Brink is only growing more agitated by the day, and if whatever is transpiring at the Helios Brink Observatory can't be stopped, earth will be subjected to another extraterrestrial invasion.

Given the mass extinction event that accompanied the First Brink Collapse, it's understandable why nobody on earth wants a sequel.

Due to the current agitation of the Brink, occasional slippage is passing through the wormhole intact. The area around the Helios Brink Observatory is being bombarded with extraterrestrial materials and inundated with foreign organisms, presumably pokemon, which as good as turned Oceania into a Ranger warzone.

Blackhat Team Seven braves the fallout, losing the majority of their members in the foray, including Lt. Col. Rionaldo and Captain Lewis. Lt. Roscoe musters the remaining members into a cover force for Lt. Cap. Bastard, who ends up proceeding to the ancient Helios Brink Observatory alone.

And guess who's waiting for Zane when he gets there?

Theron, as a character, has regressed into his devilish ways. Taunting and goading Zane (Book II's Prologue covers some of the dialogue), Theron lays out his reasoning for aggravating the Brink:

Humanity is about to repeat its mistakes. Unknown to the general population, humanity triggered the first Brink Collapse, much the same way that Theron is attempting to trigger a second. Humanity nearly brought about its own extinction, and now a certain faction intends to repeat this event, in order to seize control of the governments and declare a war on the Brink itself.

Operation Wounded Hearts was nothing more than the prep work for a total war on monkind. ACE intends to martial humanity against the invasive monsters that claimed earth fifteen hundred years, and free mankind's fate from foreign influences once and for all.

The total extinction of the Para-Kingdom on earth; that is Operation Wounded Hearts' end goal. But in order to do that, ACE needs to shut the Brink for good; and they've been consolidating their all efforts into doing just that.

But what ACE doesn't realize is that this has all been tried before. In the past, humanity attempted to shut the Brink using the same methodology they designed to open it…

...And the Brink responded to humanity's threat by releasing the Lima-Index.

Contemporary humanity didn't realize that they were responsible for the Terra Divide as well as the Brink Collapse. Theron was only able to realize such with the aid of the Prophet's Eyes. Causality is a fickle beast, but if one can observe its machinations across multiple dimensions…

...Then one can see the truth of the past as clearly as one can see the truth of the future.

Theron is convinced that the Brink itself is sentient; it knows when its existence is being threatened, and it responds to such threats like any self-aware entity would. The Lima-Index was the Brink's response to humanity's threat; the Terra Divide was the "fever" that pummeled humanity into submission.

And as cocksure as ACE is in their plans to shut the Brink…

...Earth won't survive another Terra Divide, and not even ACE's super weapon can save the planet from obliteration; if anything, such a weapon's deployment will only expedite the process.

So why is Theron targeting entire world, and not ACE specifically?

Because ACE isn't the only organization with the intent or capabilities required to enact this self-destructive plan. If Theron was to wipe out the entirety of ACE, another organization would rise to pick up where they left off.

So why can't Theron just commit to the obliteration of such institutes?

...Because Theron is running out of time. He estimates that he has less than a decade left to live, and without the Prophet's Eyes and his considerable resources, it's unlikely that anyone else would be able to respond to the threat with the same impunity that Theron can.

From Theron's perspective, he is humanity's last chance for prolonging their survival. If he dies before eliminating or hindering the repetition of history…

...Then no one else will have the means required to counter humanity's hubris.

By inciting a Second Brink Collapse, Theron is attempting to pummel humanity back into the Dark Ages, just to save the progressive species from themselves for a few centuries longer; just to waylay the inevitable repetition of history.

For that end, Theron is willing to play the role of a devil; for that selfless purpose, Theron is willing to be recorded as the villian.

And the only noble legacy Theron can even hope to leave behind…

...Is the Legacy of the Hero, who shepherded humanity through the darkest days of the Devil's trial.

Zane's intended role: The Hero.

Despite acknowledging Theron's stance as a "commendable solution, if a necessary evil," Zane refuses to let Theron damn so many innocent lives to hardship. Convinced that he and Theron can defeat ACE, and stamp out all who follow in ACE's footsteps, Zane proposes an alternative…

...Which Theron dismisses, because Zane had his chance to prove the alternative's likelihood of success…

...And Zane failed to defend the plausibility of his solution at the Indigo League's 1,075th Fourth Quota Victor Finale.

The debate is over; words have no more meaning. If neither will submit to the other's logic…

...Then establishing submission through violence is the only avenue left.

An all out battle between Theron and Zane commences; no League Codes are observed, all honor forgotten. Zane and his unit fights Theron and his Ghosts as they would the feral mon; and Theron fights back with the martial training he received in Royal Guard.

Theron may gone a bit soft in his recent diplomatic lifestyle, and Zane may be a cripple, but the two give each other absolute hell as the Brink begins to unfurl…

...And the scuffle between Zane and Theron is dragged into the confines of the Brink…

...To a place that Theron identifies as the "Cradle of Worlds".

Their battle is postponed as both men drink in this alien dimension's properties; Zane views the sterile womb with trepidation, knowing full well that men have been before and never returned; Theron looks upon the earthen skies with wonder, as his eyes reveal the shifting nebula of causality, far detached from the bias of Distortion.

The state that Theron and Zane currently exist in is somewhat similar to the states they enter upon converging with the Distortion; however, the profane nothingness of the Distortion has been replaced with the myriad sea of possibilities.

For Zane's eyes, the empty core of the Brink is a bit of a disappointment. To Theron's eyes however, it's the first truly beautiful thing he's seen since the Prophet's Eyes were first opened.

The debacle between the two men threatens to resume, but Theron informs Zane that it's already too late; their convergence here is proof that the Brink Collapsed on earth; and as Theron takes in more of this universe's peculiar properties…

...He begins to identify a pattern; a network of Brinks; all connected to different points in space time; highways to different worlds…

...All converging here, at the Cradle of Worlds.

An explanation for the vastly different species of the Para-Kingdom is finally provided: the Brink didn't pull the monsters from one particular world; it dragged them from a multitude of ecosystems, through the byways of the Cradle of Worlds.

The Brink isn't just a cosmological event connecting two points in space-time: it's a network between multiple planets, millions upon billions of planets…

...And both Theron and Zane are the first humans to see and realize it.

The moment is interrupted by a shift in causality that even Zane can feel; and Theron remarks that the final act of the Devil's role has finally come.

The Third King has arrived, and the Kingfisher of House Halcyon intends to cut off the snake's head.

Enter ACE with the Mew-1 prototype; too late to stop the Second Collapse, but still planning to incorporate it into their agenda.

Theron and Zane finally meet the Director of ACE face to face, and the pleasantries don't last long before the ACE Director orders his Mew-1 prototype to destroy both Theron and Zane.

Using his Ghost's ability to manipulate causality, Theron initially proves to hold an advantage in this contest. Extending his protection to Zane, who stands as Theron's staunch ally against ACE, Zane and Theron coordinate their attack on ACE and the Mew-1 prototype.

Unfortunately for Team Zane/Theron, the Mew-1 prototype still has a bit of Enzo Davinci in it…

...And the faculties of a genius quickly realizes how to replicate Theron's causality manipulation with the ungodly power of a Lima-Three.

So it is that The King of Death and The King of Sorrow are pitted against The King of Madness, as the three vie to establish the fate of earth.

The contest grows exceedingly dire as the proponents grow increasingly desperate; though through the exchange of blows, Zane and Theron identify a means to counter ACE's Trump Card.

The pair decides to shutdown the Mew-1 prototype by taking out the ACE Director, who holds the control module for the Mew-1 prototype's neural inhibitor harness. Attacking on two different fronts, Theron and his Ghosts do their damndest to preoccupy the Mew-1 prototype, while Zane and the Bastards contend with ACE's personnel and their mon.

Again and again, Theron's Ghosts are effortlessly destroyed, but thanks to Typhon and a Mega Evolved Exodus's combined Distortion capabilities, Theron's Ghosts can be reconstituted instantaneously, matching the Mew-1 prototype's unstoppable force with an immovable object.

But the stalemate can't last forever; Exodus and Typhon have their limits, and the Mew-1 prototype can exceed them. This war of attrition favors ACE, and everyone knows it; which is why Zane commits himself to a last-ditch effort to take out the ACE Director.

Zane manages to capture the Mew-1 prototype's control module, but the suicidal interdiction leaves him exposed to retaliation. Responding to the interdiction, ACE Director shoots at Zane…

...Only for Theron to abandon his end of the field and bodily intercept the bullet.

The last blow of the battle is dealt, when Pariah beheads the ACE Director. The Mew-1 prototype abstains from combat, and Zane shuts off its life support, finally letting the remnants of Enzo Davinci to pass on.

Theron meanwhile, is bleeding out from a bullet wound to the liver.

Zane quickly attends to Theron's wounds in a desperate attempt to save him, but Theron has had enough. He succeeded in his mission, and he'll die a devil.

Despite his submission to fate, Theron can't help but weep in bitterness. He may have bought humanity time, but it came at such a great personal cost; and it's only here, at the end of the road that Theron finally questions whether or not it was worth the sacrifice.

As Zane cradles his dying friend, the Five Knights form up around Theron. His journey is over, his mission complete; now it's time for Theron to pay his final due.

Though he's terrified of what awaits him, Theron would have Zane's final memory of him bear some likeness to dignity. Requesting Zane's aid in standing, Theron moves forward to address his Knights, while a helpless Zane stands by.

Falling to his knees before Pariah, Theron makes one last request of his most faithful Knight:

"Show me her future. Show me that this wasn't all for vain."

Whatever vision Pariah grants Theron seems to inflict him with equal amounts loathing and joy, but the vision and its portents are for Theron, and Theron alone.

Taking up his sword, Pariah places the point against Theron's breast…

...And impales the Eidolon King through the heart, before dragging his corpse away into the Distortion.

With the Eidolon King dead, the remaining four Knights are freed from their oaths, and they immediately direct their attentions on the grief-stricken Zane.

But before they can haunt him into an early grave, Grigori intervenes, and shepherds Zane out of the Brink into a newly ravaged earth.

Book Three ends where Book One started; with Zane addressing the media over the events at the Helios Brink Observatory. Just as Theron predicted, history will record him as an inhuman devil; the Harbinger of the Second Brink Collapse; a label that Zane venomously refutes on the behalf of his departed and tragic friend. Zane, meanwhile, is commemorated as a Hero, a title that he reluctantly assumes with full recognition of its bearing.

To the remnants of humanity, Zane is a symbol of hope; someone who can deliver humanity from this hellish war with the newly flourishing mon.

It's a duty that the King of Sorrow readily accepts, but even Heroes need their time to grieve.

The closing scene of TSoK takes place at a private cemetery in Johto; the cemetery where Theron had Vauban's remains interred. But Vauban's stone doesn't stand alone in this humble plot. Buried beside her is Valerie Le-Faye, the beloved wife of Theron Halcyon.

Zane, accompanied by Melissa, Darwin, Cortez, Damascus, Machiavelli, Ramses, and Grigori have all come to this hallowed place to inter one more friend in the earth, right beside the woman he loved.

But all that Zane has left of his brother is a necklace; a crude necklace, a child's necklace…

...A necklace that Theron gave to Zane right before he died.

So they bury that necklace beneath a stone that bears Theron's name…

...And The Crossed Arms is etched into this particular stone's header.

Darwin is the first to take his leave. Then Melissa departs, accompanied by Mac. Damascus and Ramses follow in short order, and after a great while has passed, Cortez too retreats from the graves.

But Zane and Grigori stand side by side until the sun sets, paying their respects to the family members that they loved and lost.


End file.
